


Slightly Mad

by kinole009x



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Friendship/Love, Psychological Drama, References to Depression, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:30:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinole009x/pseuds/kinole009x
Summary: It's 1993.  After a terrible fight with John over his depression, Veronica encounters Freddie's spirit, who sends her back in time to find a way to help John emotionally.It's 1999.  After learning that Brian has betrayed her, Anita encounters that same spirit, who sends her back in time to start over romantically with Brian.They both find themselves locked in a haunted house with Queen in 1971, where nothing is going according to plan and each band member begins to go slightly mad as the house toys with them all psychologically.





	1. Chapter 1

**1999**  
  
Anita slammed the door shut, locked it, and screamed.  
  
Usually so calm, always so soft-spoken, often smiling, now she found the only way she could release the pain she was feeling was through one loud, ear piercing shriek. And she hoped that on the other end of the door, Brian heard it. She hoped it shook him to his core.  
  
And then she turned on her heel, shut off all of the lights, and ran up the stairs. Not even bothering to undress, she threw herself on the bed, buried her face in her arms, and sobbed hysterically.  
  
Because the love of her life had hurt her. That kind, intelligent, creative man was no different than all the rest of humanity. He had been _unfaithful_.  
  
Unfaithful, unfaithful, unfaithful. The word ran through Anita's mind incessantly until a soft glow in the room made her stop crying and slowly lift her head.  
  
Sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room was Freddie.  
  
Rising to her knees on the bed, Anita's mouth dropped open. This couldn't be. Freddie had passed away eight years ago. And she wasn't drunk or on drugs or sleep deprived, there was no reason for her to be seeing _things_ and yet, here he was.  
  
Freddie stared back at her as he sat comfortably in his radiant white light, puffed on a cigarette, and glowed.  
  
"What are you?" Anita whispered.  
  
Freddie thought about it for a moment. "Well, darling, I suppose you'd call me a ghost. Though I do prefer magnificently beautiful angel, if you please." And he winked at her.  
  
Anita fell sideways, onto her hip, unable to take her eyes off of him. He was _beautiful;_ he was young, healthy, and strong, his hair short and his mustache impeccably trimmed. He was wearing white jeans, a white tank top, and a white leather jacket. As he crossed his legs, Anita noticed the dazzling white Adidas adorning his feet.  
  
Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she realized how much she missed him. "Is it really you, Freddie?"  
  
Freddie offered her the softest of smiles. "It is, darling."  
  
"Am I dreaming?"  
  
"Oh, no. You're quite awake, my dear. This is very much the real life, though some would call it fantasy."  
  
Anita smiled, in spite of everything. "So why have you come back?"  
  
Freddie's smile disappeared, but his eyes remained kind. "I think someone here could really use a friend."  
  
Anita snorted. "Brian is outside, if you're looking for him. I locked him out of the house."  
  
"So I saw, darling. But I'm not talking about Brian."  
  
Anita stared at Freddie.  
  
"I meant you, my dear."  
  
"Me?"  
  
Freddie rose from the armchair and sat beside Anita. She was amazed when she felt the bed sink beside her because it meant that someone really was there with her. But his glow was a bit over the top and she squinted through the bright light in order to see him.  
  
"Too much?" Freddie said quickly. "My apologies, darling. Allow me to tone it down a bit." And right on cue, the light dimmed slightly and Freddie instantly looked a little less like an otherworldly entity.  
  
Anita smiled at him. "You always knew how to make an entrance."  
  
Freddie looked quite pleased at that, but when he saw Anita's lower lip tremble, he pulled her into a hug.  
  
Anita clung to him, finding she was no longer crying for herself or her ruined relationship. Instead, her tears were for Freddie. The fact that he was now here, in front of her, and in such a solid, _real_ form, was almost too much to bear.  
  
"We miss you so much," she whispered through her tears, as she inhaled the scent of leather and cigarette smoke and tea.  
  
"I haven't gone anywhere," Freddie said gently. "Not really. I'm always around. Someone needs to supervise."  
  
Anita laughed against his shoulder.  
  
"And someone needs to help you," he added meaningfully. "What can I do for you, darling?"  
  
Anita pulled back, though she kept Freddie's hand tightly locked in hers, afraid that if she let go, he'd disappear. "Nothing, I'm afraid. Unless you can turn back time."  
  
Freddie gasped. "What a marvelous idea!"  
  
Anita looked at him doubtfully. "Sure it is. Take me back to 1986, so I can make sure I never meet Brian."  
  
Freddie was looking increasingly excited.  
  
"You're not serious?" Anita asked him slowly. "You can't really turn back time, can you?"  
  
"Well, if I could find a way..."  
  
"Now is not the time to quote Cher, Freddie!"  
  
"If I could do it, would you go back?"  
  
Anita ran her thumb over Freddie's knuckles. They were so soft. "I need to think about it."  
  
Freddie smiled at her, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Very well, darling."  
  
Suddenly exhausted, Anita lay back against the pillows, still clinging to Freddie's hand. "Will you stay with me?" she asked softly, as a tear ran down her face.  
  
Freddie considered it thoughtfully. "According to my calculations, it's Tuesday, which means Roger shouldn't be getting into _too_ much trouble. I think he can spare me for an evening." And with that being said, he squeezed Anita's fingers and made himself comfortable on the bed beside her.  
  
Anita stared at the framed photographs on her bedside table as she tried to fall asleep. She instantly knocked the one of her and Brian to the ground.  
  
"I'm going to assume that wasn't an accident, darling?" Freddie inquired.  
  
"Not one bit," Anita answered.  
  
As sleep slowly began to pull her under, her eyes rested on a photo of her and Freddie from so many years ago. The one where she looked so young, and so happy, adorned in a pair of heels, tight jeans, a striped tank top, and an armed services hat. And Freddie was wearing sandals, an impossibly short pair of shorts, a summery button-down shirt, and a look of pure attitude. His hand was around her waist. Her hand was on top of his head. It was one of her favorite photos.  
  
Finally, Anita fell into a deep sleep, surrounded by Freddie's soft glow.  
  
\---  
  
But when Anita woke, she wasn't in her bed. She was sitting on the ground, leaning against a very thick oak tree.  
  
Instantly, she scrambled to her feet, and winced as she lost her balance and stumbled. Looking down, she saw she was wearing the same pair of heels from the photograph on her bedside table.  
  
And the same pair of tight jeans, and the same striped tank top. Reaching up, Anita ran her fingers through her hair. Same poodle hairdo. Rushing over to the dirt road, Anita leaned over a pothole filled with water in order to get a good look at herself.  
  
If Freddie had kept his promise, and this was indeed 1986, she was expecting to see a version of herself that was thirteen years younger. Not that she thought she had really gone back in time, this was more than likely a dream...  
  
But when Anita saw her reflection, her jaw dropped. She was more than thirteen years younger. Much, _much_ younger.  
  
Straightening up and turning around, Anita looked up in awe at the grand old mansion that was looming over her. Perhaps it would have been a beautiful sight if the sun was out, but it was very late at night and bathed in the light from a yellow moon, the house looked positively sinister.  
  
Anita sighed and folded her arms as she looked down the road. There were no other houses; just a dirt road stretching into the darkness of the woods.  
  
She was very much alone. As she heard a howl come from somewhere in the woods, she prayed she would wake up soon.  
  
"Oh, this isn't a dream, darling," a voice from behind her said.  
  
Anita jumped and spun around. Freddie, in all his white splendor, was leaning against the oak tree with a triumphant grin.  
  
"What do you mean, this isn't a dream?" Anita repeated anxiously.  
  
"I did it!" Freddie said, barely able to contain his excitement. "I sent you back in time!"  
  
"But Freddie, I thought you were joking," Anita whispered. "And this can't possibly be 1986...I look too young!"  
  
"Send you to 1986 just so that you can avoid Brian?" Freddie asked, sounding momentarily confused. "That would be no fun at all!"  
  
Anita gave Freddie an incredulous look.  
  
"I sent you to 1971 so you can meet Brian when you're both young!" Freddie explained, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.  
  
"1971?!" Anita whispered in shock. "That would make me twenty-two years old."  
  
"Consider it as a gift. You both get more time together, and there'll be no messy divorce from Chrissie or drama from the tabloids."  
  
"Freddie, I don't _want_ more time with him! I don't want to see him ever again."  
  
"Darling, you don't really mean that," Freddie said, as he gently walked her towards the mansion. "He's stubborn and impossible but he's really a perfect angel at heart."  
  
"He was _unfaithful_," Anita said tightly.  
  
"Not in 1971!" Freddie said, a protective hand on her back. "This is your chance to start over, darling. Be young together. Be his first wife. Have babies."  
  
"But Freddie, I'll know what he did," Anita said in a low, upset voice. "I'll know what he's capable of."  
  
"Well, that's why you're here, dear," Freddie said firmly. "To make sure it doesn't happen again."  
  
He led Anita up the stairs and onto the wrap around porch.  
  
"What if I don't want to stay here in the past?" Anita protested. "What if I need help?"  
  
"I'll be here for you, darling!" Freddie exclaimed, as if it was obvious. "But apparently, there's rules." And at this, he rolled his eyes.  
  
Anita eyed Freddie suspiciously. "What do you mean, there's rules?"  
  
"With the entire time travel business," Freddie said with a dismissive wave.  
  
Anita put her hands on her hips. "Fancy that."  
  
"You can call on me for help," Freddie explained as he led Anita over to the ornate front door. "But only three times."  
  
Anita nodded. "All right."  
  
"Which means, if you're calling on me for the third time, you better ask to go back to 1999 if that's what you really want. Because after three times, I'm not allowed to return to you."  
  
"In other words..."  
  
"You'd be quite literally stuck in the past, Anita dear," Freddie said as he grasped the door knocker.  
  
"Wait!" Anita grabbed Freddie's hand before he could knock on the door. "Who lives here?"  
  
"An old acquaintance," Freddie said matter-of-factly. "He'll make you feel very much at home until the band arrives."  
  
Anita shook her head. "I'm not ready."  
  
"Well, it's ten at night and you have nowhere else to go," Freddie pointed out. "So make yourself ready. I'll wait."  
  
Anita yanked her jeans up, made sure her shirt was tucked in, and fluffed her hair. She took a few deep breaths for good measure.  
  
"Are you ready, darling?"  
  
"As ready as I'll ever be."  
  
"Good," Freddie said, as he knocked loudly on the door. "I can't wait for you to meet the young Queen! We were so fun back in the day!"  
  
As Freddie disappeared, leaving her alone, Anita waited nervously and allowed herself to be appalled that Freddie had sent her back to 1971 in order to live a good, longer life with Brian and to ensure that the difficult parts of their relationship never happened.  
  
But Anita was heartbroken and she was furious. She had no intention of living life over with Brian. As the door slowly opened, she thought about her real intention:  
  
Revenge. She was going to make Brian's life very, very difficult.  
  
**1993  
**  
"It's positive."  
  
John stared at the pregnancy test that Ronnie had just dropped onto the kitchen table in front of him.  
  
"That's...that's great news," John stammered, clearly caught off guard.  
  
Ronnie's mouth dropped open.  
  
John glanced up at his wife and took in her shocked expression, the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes, her trembling fingers gripping her arms as she hugged herself.  
  
"You're not happy?" he asked carefully.  
  
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Ronnie whispered. "I'm on the pill, it was supposed to prevent..._this_."  
  
John looked back down at the pregnancy test and not for the first time, Ronnie noticed his graying hair, the sadness in his eyes, how much he had aged in only a few years.  
  
Sitting across from him, Ronnie reached out and clasped his hand. "It's not that I'm not happy..." Though she had to admit, she wasn't exactly thrilled. "But John, we have five children already. We're not young anymore. And..."  
  
John looked up as Ronnie went silent. "Yes?"  
  
Ronnie inhaled deeply. "I don't know if...if now is the right time to bring another child into this house."  
  
"What do you mean?" John asked very quietly.  
  
Ronnie bit her lip, not wanting to say the words but knowing she had to clearly express how she was feeling. "Are you ready to be a father again?"  
  
John looked taken aback. "I'm a father right now."  
  
"Yes," Ronnie said slowly. "But are you ready to be a father to a _sixth_ child?"  
  
"Of course I am," John whispered, pulling his hot cup of tea closer.  
  
He didn't understand. Swallowing bitter tears, Ronnie snatched the pregnancy test, tossed it in the trash, and turned to leave the room. She couldn't say what she truly wanted to say because she couldn't bear to hurt him more, not when he was still mourning over Freddie...  
  
But as she reached the doorway, she heard John's soft voice.  
  
"You don't think I'm stable enough."  
  
Ronnie turned around. "What?"  
  
"You don't think I'm mentally stable enough to care for another child," John repeated, and he looked so devastated, that Ronnie found herself returning to him and kneeling before him on the cold kitchen floor.  
  
"I didn't say that," Ronnie said gently, taking his hands.  
  
"But you're thinking it," John protested. "I can see it on your f-face."  
  
Ronnie stared up at him helplessly.  
  
"Don't lie," John whispered. "Please."  
  
Ronnie suddenly had an idea. "What if we got you some help?" she suggested.  
  
"Help?" John repeated flatly.  
  
"Perhaps you could talk to someone, or go see a doctor and he could prescribe you something to make you feel better."  
  
John slowly pulled his hands away. "I don't need that."  
  
"But you do," Ronnie insisted. "You'll feel so much better."  
  
"The fact that we're having another baby makes me feel better," John pointed out.  
  
"But don't you want to be your very best self for the baby?"  
  
"I can be that without drugs," John said, sounding very hurt. "And without doctors."  
  
Ronnie had been wanting to bring up this subject to John for a very long time, but was always afraid of how he would react to it. But now that she had her chance, she was disheartened at how unresponsive he was being.  
  
"Then show me," she said softly.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" John asked, staring at her.  
  
"Show me that you can be your best."  
  
John, clearly upset, held out his arms. "Here I am."  
  
"No," Ronnie said, shaking her head. "You're better than this, John. This isn't you."  
  
John dropped his head so that she couldn't see his face. She reached out to him, but he flinched back and immediately tried to get to his feet. In his haste to get away from her, he bumped into the table, knocking his teacup to the ground. It smashed into pieces, spraying hot liquid across the cold tile.  
  
Shocked, Ronnie wrapped her arms around herself and gazed at the broken porcelain that now littered the floor. She had wanted so badly to help him find happiness again, to show him that there was a way to get beyond whatever it was he was dealing with, to prove that she was there for him. And he had pushed her away.  
  
And it only made her miss the sweet, younger, happy version of her husband and it only further reminded her that a drastic change had occurred deep within him in the past few years, and it was much too deep for her to reach with her grasping fingers.  
  
"This is _exactly_ why I'm not happy about having another baby," Ronnie said bitterly, as she raised her head and fixed John with a glare. "Because you're not the same person who gave me five children in the past eighteen years."  
  
John instantly put a hand against his heart, as if she had pierced him there with something sharper than her words. "Don't say that."  
  
Ronnie slowly got to her feet. "It's the truth," she said darkly. "You have let your grief _consume_ you, John!"  
  
John was shaking his head, backing away from her as she stepped towards him.  
  
"And no one will say it out loud because no one wants to hurt you, but I'm going to say it now," Ronnie said in a low voice, as she backed John against a wall. "You're _depressed._ You are suffering from _depression._ And you need _help_."  
  
John stared down at Ronnie, fighting to keep his expression calm, but his eyes were burning with tears.  
  
Ronnie held him against the wall with the palms of her hands pressed against his chest. "Just say the word," she said, softening her voice. "I'll be with you every step of the way. We can do this together."  
  
John leaned towards her slightly, almost as if he was considering her words and wanting to surrender to them, but he turned his face away instead. "I don't need that kind of help," he said, but his voice was shaking.  
  
"Then what kind of help do you need?" Ronnie exclaimed, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.  
  
The gaze that John turned upon her was positively frightening. His mouth twisted in anguish as he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Can you bring back the dead, Ronnie?"  
  
Ronnie flinched, but forced herself to stay where she was, close to him.  
  
"Can you turn back time and prevent Freddie's death?" John continued. "Hmm? No? I didn't think so."  
  
Ronnie felt hot tears streaming down her face.  
  
"That's the only help I need," John finished, his lower lip trembling. "And it's help that no one can give me."  
  
"So you're not even going to try?" Ronnie whispered tearfully.  
  
"What's the point, Ronnie?" John asked wearily.  
  
Ronnie stared at John for a moment, before his words hit her in the heart and she felt something inside of her snap.  
  
Pushing him into the wall with all her might, she shouted, "What's the _point!?_ Your family is the point! Are we nothing to you?"  
  
John opened his mouth but Ronnie plowed on mercilessly.  
  
"The children _need_ you! And I _need_ you! And this new baby - " Ronnie jabbed a finger at her stomach, "is going to _need_ you! And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that there's no help, that there's no point, that you won't try..." Ronnie choked on a sob. "...how _dare_ you!"  
  
John reached out to her as a tear slipped down his own cheek but Ronnie jerked away and began to back away from him. Too upset to watch where she was going, she let out a cry of pain as she felt something sharp pierce the bottom of her foot.  
  
Clearly agonized, John stepped towards her. "Ronnie, let me - "  
  
"Help? Let you help?" Ronnie said cruelly, as she reached down, yanked the shard of teacup porcelain out of her foot, and threw it across the room. "What would be the _point_ of that?"  
  
"Ronnie, stop," John whispered, as he fell to his knees in front of her.  
  
"I want the man I married back!" Ronnie sobbed. "I want _Deaky_ back!"  
  
"I'm r-right here," John tried to reach for her once more, but Ronnie retreated to the doorway.  
  
"But you're not!" Ronnie yelled at him. "That's the problem, John! Most of the time, I don't know where you are! You're here physically, but mentally you're always somewhere else!"  
  
John glanced nervously up at the ceiling, and Ronnie knew he was thinking of the baby. But she knew Luke was fast asleep, and at that moment she felt very grateful that it was a Friday night, which meant that the rest of their children were at slumber parties and not home to witness this.  
  
"You've given up," Ronnie said flatly.  
  
John once more pressed a hand against his heart. "Ronnie, you need to understand..."  
  
"I'm _trying_ to!" Ronnie shot back. "But what I don't understand is why you won't even try to save yourself from this."  
  
John remained silent.  
  
"Do it for me, John," Ronnie pleaded. "Do it for us. Do it for the children. Do it for _Freddie_."  
  
Another tear ran down John's face as he fell to a sitting position, not even caring that tea was soaking his jeans.  
  
Ronnie waited for him to say something, _anything_, and when he didn't, she realized that he had shut down once again and that the only way she was going to truly reach him was by hurting him.  
  
"Well, if you won't do it for any of us," Ronnie shrugged. "And if you've truly given up...then I don't want to have this child with you. This child deserves so much more than a father who doesn't love himself enough to keep fighting."  
  
John lifted his head and stared at her in shock.  
  
"And if you won't fight for our family...if you won't fight for me...then I'm not going to sit around and watch you slowly _die!_" The last word came out as a hiss, and Ronnie turned on her heel and left John sitting amidst the tea and broken fragments and as she raced to the bottom of the staircase, she heard a brokenhearted sob come from the kitchen.  
  
Ronnie ran up the stairs, burst into the bedroom she shared with John, and stumbled into their bathroom. Shutting and locking the door, she slid to the floor and covering her mouth with her hand, she allowed herself to sob uncontrollably.  
  
After approximately ten minutes, she felt someone touching her foot. Fearing that John had somehow broken into the bathroom, Ronnie sat up in alarm but when she looked up, she saw the last person she expected to see.  
  
Sitting cross-legged in front of her and inspecting her foot very closely, was Freddie.  
  
Ronnie wiped her eyes quickly and shook her head, but when she opened her eyes, he was still there.  
  
"If you want me to go away," Freddie said with a mischievous smile, "you're going to have to do better than that, darling."  
  
Ronnie stared at him in disbelief. "You're not real. You're clearly the result of the nervous breakdown I'm having."  
  
Freddie shrugged. "Perhaps. Why don't you find out for yourself?"  
  
Ronnie reached out and gently touched Freddie's face. She was surprised when she found herself touching soft skin. He certainly felt real. And though he was dressed entirely in white and looked beautifully ethereal, he looked real, as well.  
  
"I actually glow, but someone told me it was a bit much so I spared you," Freddie explained. "You're welcome, darling."  
  
Though Ronnie still didn't entirely believe what she was seeing, she suspended her disbelief for the moment, and threw herself into his arms.  
  
"How are you here?" she whispered into his ear, realizing that he hadn't even been dead for two years, but it felt like an eternity. "How is this even possible?"  
  
"It must be a kind of magic," Freddie said cheekily, and Ronnie found herself smiling at the easy reference to one of Queen's songs.  
  
But just as quickly, her smile disappeared and she pulled away. "You didn't see any of what just happened, did you?"  
  
"Believe me, darling, I wish I hadn't."  
  
"Oh Freddie, he's so miserable," Ronnie whispered. "Especially ever since you..." Ronnie swallowed the lump in her throat. "And I can't help him. I just want to see him smile again."  
  
"Ah yes," Freddie said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Deaky's smile was too pure for words."  
  
"I don't know the last time I saw him truly smile. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time."  
  
Freddie's smile widened. "You do?"  
  
Ronnie snorted. "Sure, but fat chance of that ever happening."  
  
"Never say never, darling."  
  
Ronnie leaned against the vanity and sighed as Freddie once more picked up her foot and taking a tissue, began to dab delicately at the puncture wound from the sharp porcelain she had stepped on.  
  
"Well, my dear," he said conversationally. "If time travel were a possibility, which year would you choose?" He said it as casually as if he were asking her favorite ice cream flavor.  
  
"Whatever year would allow me to save you," Ronnie said quietly.  
  
Freddie looked up and smiled softly at her. "That's incredibly sweet, darling, but the number one rule of time travel is that death cannot be prevented."  
  
"You speak of this as if it were real," Ronnie said uncertainly.  
  
"Maybe it is," Freddie said evasively as he placed a band aid over Ronnie's wound. "But it's true that everyone has a time when they're meant to leave the earth and no amount of time traveling can change that. If you had gone back in time to prevent my illness, something else would have gotten me in '91."  
  
A chill ran down Ronnie's spine.

"Perhaps a nasty car accident or a bad piece of meat."

"Freddie!" Ronnie whispered, but realized it was easy for Freddie to talk about death because he'd already experienced it.  
  
Freddie gasped suddenly. "What about 1971?"  
  
Ronnie shook her head. "I think I'd go back to 1986. That was around the time that John started acting strangely."  
  
Freddie tapped the side of his nose thoughtfully. "Yes. I believe touring was starting to affect him, and if I remember correctly, he turned to alcohol for awhile...and there was the time he threw his guitar across the stage..."  
  
Ronnie sighed. "Perhaps in '86 I could get to the root of the problem and prevent all of that from happening. Maybe then he would be more prepared to deal with your death."  
  
Freddie held out his hand. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?"  
  
"But Freddie," Ronnie said sadly. "This is nothing but a dream."  
  
"Close your eyes," Freddie instructed, passing his hands gently over Ronnie's eyes.  
  
Ronnie did as she was told.  
  
\---  
  
When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in a field of tall grass under a bright, yellow moon. Glancing to her right, Ronnie saw a cemetery.  
  
Jumping to her feet, Ronnie took three giant steps away from it, and bumped into a figure. Spinning around, she was relieved to see Freddie.  
  
"Why would you drop me off near a cemetery at night?" she whispered anxiously.

"Superstitious are we, darling?" Freddie asked with a smirk.  
  
Suddenly feeling the sensation of curls ticking her nose and very tight jeans squeezing her arse, Ronnie looked down at her clothes. Ripped jeans, sneakers, a black t-shirt...running her hands through her hair, she was amazed to find it was very long. "I didn't dress like this in 1986."

"That's because this isn't 1986."

"What?"  
  
"Well, you see, darling," Freddie said slowly. "On our ride back through time, I realized that 1986 would benefit neither of you. Not really."  
  
Ronnie stared at him. "So what year is this?"  
  
"1971!"  
  
Ronnie's jaw dropped. "1971? So I'm eighteen?"  
  
"Isn't it marvelous?" Freddie was positively glowing, and not just because he was an otherworldly entity. He was clearly excited.  
  
"I didn't even know John yet!"  
  
"Exactly!" Freddie exclaimed. "You can date all over again!"  
  
Ronnie gawked at him. "No! Absolutely not!"  
  
"Why not?" Freddie sounded disappointed. "Falling in love is easy. Staying in love is the hard part."  
  
Ronnie groaned and began to walk away.  
  
"I don't know where you think you're going, darling, but 1993 is that way." Freddie leaned against a tree and jabbed his thumb towards the cemetery.  
  
Ronnie stopped and was about to glance at the grave stones, but the sight of an old van crawling down the dirt road caught her attention.  
  
"Please," Freddie pleaded, as he jogged energetically over to Ronnie and took her hand. "Just try it, darling. I honestly believe that by spending time with John in this decade, you'll remember why you love him so much and you'll find the tools you need to help him in the future."  
  
Ronnie stared anxiously at the van, which had made a strange, sputtering noise and stopped next to the cemetery.  
  
"And if that doesn't work, at least you can convince Deaky to hate alcohol and then the trip won't be an entire waste," Freddie said cheerfully.  
  
Ronnie looked back at Freddie, and when he saw that her eyes were full of fear, he patted her reassuringly on the back. "I'm here for your, darling. You can call on me exactly three times if you need help, but beware...the third time, we'll need to send you back to your own time."  
  
Ronnie took a deep breath, and nodded.  
  
"The show must go on, darling!" Freddie murmured in her ear, as he pushed her towards the cemetery.  
  
As she weaved her way through the stones, Ronnie watched as the driver's door to the van opened, and a pair of very long legs emerged.


	2. Chapter 2

Ronnie crouched behind a particularly large gravestone and watched as a very young Brian gracefully unfolded himself out of the driver's seat, and lifted the hood of the van with an impatient sigh.  
  
An equally young Roger tumbled out of the van and glanced disinterestedly over Brian's shoulder, before taking in his surroundings. When he saw the cemetery, he let out a cry of disgust, before retreating across the road to sit himself in the grass on the other side.  
  
"Of all the places to break down, Brian!" he said irritably. "You had to do it next to a graveyard?"  
  
Brian lifted his head. "I only wanted you to have a bit of company. Sitting on your arse over there doing nothing must be awfully lonely."  
  
Roger rolled his eyes as a mustache-less Freddie leisurely exited the van and stretched. Scratching his torso, he glanced around, clearly in search of something, before sighing in resignation and marching determinedly towards the woods.  
  
"Where are you going?" John asked as he jumped out of the backseat.  
  
"Nature calls, darling," Freddie said over his shoulder.  
  
"Shouldn't someone go with you?" Brian asked, throwing a look of distrust towards the dark woods.  
  
"I don't need an escort, darling," Freddie drawled, before grinning and adding, "Not yet anyway. Maybe one day when I'm a legend."  
  
From behind the gravestone, Ronnie clamped a hand over her mouth to supress a giggle. But she was quickly distracted as she watched John lean over the hood of the car to get a better look at their current mechanical problem.  
  
The flashlight he was holding illuminated his face as he bit his lip in determination, his expression one of utmost seriousness. Ronnie found herself smiling as she watched him. He often wore that expression when he was concentrating on something important, and the only difference now was that his face was incredibly smooth. No crow's feet around his eyes, no stubble, no _tears_. His long, brown hair hung over one shoulder and was not yet streaked with gray. Ronnie found she was holding her breath as she observed this young version of her husband.  
  
But just as quickly, her smile faded. She couldn't even imagine leaving this sweet human sitting alone on a kitchen floor in a puddle of hot tea, surrounded by broken teacup fragments, tears running down his face, yet that's exactly what she had done...  
  
"Yes, he's very nice to look at," a voice said from behind her, and Ronnie nearly jumped out of her skin. Turning, she saw Freddie's spirit watching her, his elbows propped on top of a gravestone and his chin resting on his fist.  
  
Ronnie fixed him with a bewildered look as he grinned at her and added, "But he's even nicer to talk to."  
  
Ronnie sighed and looked back towards the van.  
  
"What are you afraid of, darling?"  
  
Adorning the bravest expression she could find, Ronnie got to her feet. "Nothing," she muttered, as she began to walk through the tall grass and headstones.  
  
On the other side of the road, Roger was plucking blades of grass out of the ground and trying not to focus on how incredibly bored he was, when movement in the distance caught his eye. Looking up, he saw something emerging from the cemetery and without thinking, grabbed a pinecone, threw it at the approaching figure, and shouted, "Brian, duck!"  
  
Brian did as he was told. "Why!?" he exclaimed.  
  
Ronnie crouched behind another gravestone as the pinecone sailed over her head.  
  
"Fuck!" Spirit Freddie's voice muttered behind her and she knew the pinecone had hit him somewhere significant.  
  
"Because there's a ghost coming out of the cemetery!" Roger shouted.  
  
Brian looked at the cemetery. There was nothing there.

"There's nothing there, Roger!"  
  
"But there was!" Roger protested.  
  
"Well, what good would ducking do? Do ghosts fly at people?"  
  
"No," Spirit Freddie muttered, rubbing his head.  
  
"How the hell should I know, Brian?" Roger snapped.  
  
"I wouldn't tempt the dead by throwing pinecones at them, dear," young Freddie said as he emerged from the woods.  
  
Throughout this entire encounter, John had steadily worked under the hood of the car, but as he heard a rustling noise in the cemetery, he glanced up, just in time to see Ronnie leaving the gravestone behind and walking towards them. He immediately dropped the flashlight, which fell somewhere into the bowels of the van's engine compartment.  
  
"Hello," Ronnie said uncertainly to the group, feeling unbelievably awkward as the band stared at her in surprise.  
  
"Hello," Roger, Brian, and Freddie chorused together in perfect harmony, as John swallowed hard.  
  
Ronnie stepped up to the hood of the van, reached down, and pulled out the flashlight. She was about to kindly hand it back to John, but the wires that made up the van's engine caught her attention and instantly she knew what was wrong.  
  
Ronnie had watched John fix plenty of cars throughout the years and as a result, had picked up a thing or two. She smiled slightly as she realized how young and inexperienced 1971's John was if he couldn't yet see it.  
  
She handed him the flashlight, noting how he shivered when her fingers brushed his, and as she leaned over the van and fiddled with it's inner workings, she heard Brian saying quietly, "See Roger? _Not_ a ghost."  
  
Roger snorted.  
  
When Ronnie was finished, she stood back and nodded at Brian, who circled the van, slid into the driver's seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine started with a magnificent roar.  
  
The band once more stared at her, but this time in awe.  
  
"Wherever did you learn to do that, darling?" Freddie asked, clearly impressed.  
  
"A family member," Ronnie said carefully. "He's really good with his hands."  
  
"Apparently so are you," Freddie winked at her, as Brian emerged from the van.  
  
Glancing quickly at John, Ronnie noticed a strand of hair that had blown across his cheek. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and brushed it away from his face, before remembering that _this_ John had only known her for approximately five minutes and would likely find the gesture quite intimate...  
  
But his face softened and he smiled at her.  
  
"_Thank_ you," Brian said sincerely, as Roger stared at her, not bothering to hide his look of suspicion. "How can we repay you for your kindness?"  
  
Ronnie nervously twisted her fingers together. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, perhaps a ride?"  
  
"Of course," Brian said as he led her around the van. "Where to?"  
  
Ronnie's heart sunk. Where to? Perhaps nowhere? Ronnie realized she couldn't tell them the truth, so she said quietly, "Just to the next town will be fine."  
  
As she settled herself in the backseat of the van between John and Freddie, Roger turned around in the passenger seat and fixed her with a stare. "Do you hang out in cemeteries at night often?"  
  
"Drop it, Roger," Brian warned as he started the van, and pulled into the road. "She's not a ghost."  
  
"I was actually...left here," Ronnie said softly.  
  
Freddie gasped. "Who would do such a thing?"  
  
Ronnie's lip twitched as she tried not to smile._ You_ would, she thought to herself, as she thought of Spirit Freddie in the cemetery.  
  
She allowed her gaze to drift slowly to the front of the van, where Brian's gentle eyes were floating in the darkness of the rear view mirror. Leaning to the side slightly, she caught her own reflection, and let out a tiny breath of surprise.  
  
She was so _young_. When Spirit Freddie had told her it was 1971 and she had realized she was eighteen years old again, it hadn't completely clicked for her. But it was clicking now that she saw her teenage self staring back at her.  
  
But that wasn't the only thing staring at her. Ronnie, still staring into the mirror, locked eyes with John and he quickly dropped his gaze.  
  
A comfortable silence fell over the van as Brian drove along the dirt road. Ronnie tried not to overthink things, but found that being so close to John in his young form was quite overwhelming. She was completely pressed against him, her arm resting against his, her hip firmly against his own, their legs gently touching. As his familiar scent surrounded her, she remembered Spirit Freddie's words about dating all over again, how falling in love was the easy part.  
  
He was right. Ronnie felt something she hadn't felt in years...butterflies in her stomach. She found she was trembling.  
  
She glanced over at Freddie as she felt John shifting next her. As rain began to patter against the windowpanes, she suddenly felt very warm and realized that John had draped his jacket over her shoulders.  
  
Freddie shot him a bewildered, yet proud, look.  
  
"You...you were shivering," John said defensively. "I f-figured you might be cold and..."  
  
Ronnie felt her heart swell as she pulled his jacket tighter around her. "Thank you," she said, and gave him a sincere smile. He blushed and looked away as the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.  
  
But Ronnie's smile disappeared as the rain began to fall heavily and she realized how difficult it was to see John so young and so sweet, knowing what he would eventually suffer in twenty years or so.  
  
As Brian squinted through the terrible weather, and Roger consulted a giant map, Freddie turned around to glare at a rapidly approaching pair of bright, white headlights.  
  
"Arsehole!" he hissed as the vehicle began to follow them very closely. "Haven't you heard of personal space?"  
  
"Evidently not," Brian muttered, as he held a hand up to his eyes to shield himself from the bright light that was flooding the rear view mirror.  
  
"Brian, we're being invaded!" Freddie said loudly.  
  
"Step on the gas, Bri," Roger sighed, "before this wanker gets too far up Freddie's arse."  
  
"Personal space!" Freddie repeated.  
  
Ronnie looked over her shoulder and instantly recoiled. The light was blinding and the headlights were _so_ close. She tried not to think about how they looked like large, white eyes.  
  
"I'm going to do the safe thing," Brian said calmly, "and pull over."  
  
But before he could do so, the vehicle swerved around the van and sped up with an alarming explosion of noise. As the van was forced into a ditch at the side of the road, Ronnie grabbed John's hand in fear.  
  
Rolling down his window, Roger crumpled the map into a ball and flung it angrily out the window as the car passed. "Tosser!" he shouted as the rain hit him in the face and the map blew away into the night. The car instantly disappeared.  
  
"What did you do that for?" Brian exclaimed. "Now we have no directions!"  
  
"It couldn't be helped," Roger said tightly as he rolled up the window rather aggressively.  
  
"Well, did you happen to see which direction we go in next before you tossed our map out the window?"  
  
"Straight?" Roger suggested.  
  
Brian sighed. By this time, the rain was coming down in sheets and it was impossible to see where they were going. Not that they knew _where_ they were going anymore.  
  
Ronnie realized that her hand was still gently resting in John's, her fingers entwined with his. Reluctantly but gently, she pulled her hand away and tucked it between her knees as his warmth disappeared from her fingers.  
  
Brian rubbed at the fog that was clouding the van window, and looked out into the night. He saw a few squares of yellow light in the distance, and guessed that they had stopped in front of a house.  
  
"We might as well see if anyone's home," he said, "and if they can give us directions and a place to wait out the storm."  
  
Ronnie shrugged off John's jacket and offered it back to him, figuring he'd need it for the trip through the rain, but he shook his head and pushed it gently back towards her.  
  
By the time the five-some reached the wrap around porch, they were all quite wet. Taking hold of the sinister-looking door knocker, Brian shivered, before silently scolding himself. He wasn't ordinarily superstitious and now was certainly not the time to start, so he brushed the prickly feeling away and knocked loudly.  
  
The door opened slowly, but almost instantly.  
  
"Welcome," a voice with a strong Irish accent said. "We've been expecting you."  
  
"You have?" Roger looked confused as a finger beckoned them inside the mansion.  
  
They stepped into a large, darkly furnished entrance hall that Ronnie found quite eerie. Even the warm, crackling fire at the far end couldn't quite take away the strange feeling that had formed in the pit of her stomach the moment she stepped over the threshold.  
  
The heavy front door slowly closed behind them...by itself. Roger's mouth dropped open as he turned to Brian, but Brian wasn't paying attention to Roger _or_ the door.  
  
A beautiful young woman standing in a doorway had caught his attention. It wasn't that Brian had never seen a beautiful woman before, but there was something about her green eyes, and red hair, and finely angled facial features...  
  
...yet she seemed so sad. She was staring back at him, but with a look that sort of resembled horror and which made Brian feel suddenly uncomfortable. He felt his hand unconsciously creeping up his chest to rest over his heart.  
  
Roger nudged him. "What's the matter with you? Are you having a heart attack?"  
  
Brian quickly shook his head and tore his gaze away from the woman.  
  
"We're so sorry to intrude," Freddie was saying formally, "but we thought perhaps you might be able to lend us a map."  
  
Their host stepped forward into the light, and Ronnie instantly pressed herself back against the door. She had seen him before.  
  
"Certainly," he said warmly, "but the storm's end appears to be nowhere in sight, so I must insist you stay the night as my guests." He gestured over to the woman in the doorway. "Anita here is in the same situation as all of you."  
  
Ronnie looked over at the doorway and her mouth dropped.  
  
Anita Dobson? Ronnie flipped through a file of memories in her mind. The band didn't even meet Anita until 1986 and as far as she knew, they never encountered Anita before then. And so it made no sense for her to be here now...  
  
Anita stepped forward and shook Ronnie's hand. Was Ronnie imagining it, or did she sense a glimpse of recognition in Anita's eyes?  
  
John, Roger, and Freddie were each introduced to Anita, and she shook hands with each of them in turn. When she turned to Brian, he reached for her hand.  
  
"It's so nice to meet you," he said politely.  
  
Anita found herself squeezing his hand a bit harder than she should have. Brian winced.  
  
"Firm handshake," he commented.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, but she wasn't sorry at all.  
  
"And I will be your host," their host said grandly. "My name is Peter Prenter."  
  
Ronnie raised an eyebrow and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "You mean Paul? Paul Prenter?"  
  
Anita stared at her in surprise. How did Veronica know Paul? He wouldn't become involved with Queen for another four years...  
  
Paul Prenter's face darkened. "No," he said firmly. "It's _Peter_."  
  
Ronnie wrapped her arms around herself and felt the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach intensify. She felt John move closer to her, and it made her feel a wee bit better.  
  
"Now," Peter-Paul said formally. "I'll show you to your rooms. You must be _dead_ tired."  
  
A smile slowly spread across Roger's face.  
  
"And then, you're all invited to join me for a late dinner," Paul-Peter continued. "We wouldn't want you to...starve."  
  
"This is excellent theming," Roger whispered in Freddie's ear, as Prenter led everyone up the wide, red-carpeted staircase.  
  
Freddie looked at him with a strange expression. "What do you mean, dear?"  
  
"The door closing on it's own, the scary host, the death puns..." Roger explained. "We've clearly stumbled on one of those inns that pretends to be a haunted house."  
  
As Ronnie hugged John's jacket to her chest, she couldn't help but feel that what they were experiencing was real. She had so many questions to ask Spirit Freddie, but then remembered she could only call for him three times. Which meant she should probably save those three visits for emergencies.  
  
As she approached the top of the staircase, a hand appeared before her. Looking up, Ronnie saw John was at the top, wearing a shy smile, and offering his hand to help her the rest of the way.  
  
Ronnie put her left hand in his, and just as a smile slowly formed on her face, John's smile disappeared. She froze on the stairs, staring up at John and wondering what had suddenly changed.  
  
"I didn't realize you were married," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.  
  
Ronnie looked down at their hands and saw the wedding band on her ring finger. Because she had worn it for eighteen years, it felt like a part of her and she had forgotten it was there and might raise questions in 1971. She had to bite her lip to keep from blurting out that yes, she was married..._to you, Deaky_.  
  
But instead, Ronnie pulled her hand away and slowly walked up the rest of the stairs. "Yes," she said quietly. "It's...a complex situation."  
  
John looked at her questioningly, but she didn't volunteer any more information as they walked down a hallway lined with giant paintings of beautiful people.  
  
Roger yanked on Freddie's hand in excitement. "The eyes in the portraits even move!"  
  
Brian raised his eyebrows. "Have you been consuming alcohol?"  
  
"No!" Roger said defensively, before adding, "Well, not much..."  
  
Ronnie, Anita, and the band were shown to their separate rooms. Feeling uneasy in a room that was much too dark and much too large, Ronnie ran her hand over the heavy bedspread and saw a cream colored envelope resting on the pillow.  
  
Settling herself on the bed, she turned the envelope over and saw an old-fashioned, red wax seal with an ornate P stamped into it. Breaking the seal, she pulled out a sheet of paper and read it's short message.  
  
_Welcome.  
  
I hope you will enjoy your stay. If you should need anything, please don't hesitate to ask.  
_  
_But be forewarned that tonight, you may find yourself experiencing your deepest desire and facing your greatest fear. You may find they are one and the same. If this happens, a word of caution: don't fight it.  
_  
_I hope you are able to rest...in peace._  
_P_  
  
A chill ran down Ronnie's spine and she instantly ran for the door. Flinging it open, she collided with Anita, who was holding a matching envelope.  
  
"I don't like this," Anita whispered anxiously to her, just as Roger appeared behind them with his own note and said, "Isn't this fab? It's so...authentic!"  
  
"Trickery," Freddie muttered as he closed the door to his room. "I tossed mine out the window."  
  
"Oh, so there's a good chance it'll encounter our map," Brian said dryly as he shot Roger a look.  
  
The sound of a gong sounded through the hall at that moment, and everyone jumped, except for Roger.  
  
"If you'll follow me," Prenter said from the end of the hall, before turning and leading the way.  
  
Roger's jaw dropped. "Where did he come from? He just appeared out of nowhere!"  
  
Brian sighed, and then grimaced in pain as someone stepped on his foot. He glanced up and realized that as Anita had walked past him, her black high heel had made contact with his toes.  
  
The look she turned upon him was one of determination, but she forced herself to say, "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."  
  
Brian swallowed his cry of pain as he tried to ignore the piercing sensation in his foot and nodded, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.  
  
As the small group followed Prenter back towards the hallway of portraits, Ronnie glanced at John, who was still in the doorway of his room.  
  
"I'll be right behind you," he promised and Ronnie hurried to catch up with the others.  
  
Back down the staircase they went, and through the large entryway, past the blazing fire. Ronnie rubbed her chest, which felt quite heavy, and looked over her shoulder. John wasn't there.  
  
She stopped, and walked back the way they had come. If she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that the house frightened her, and she would hate for John to get lost in it by himself. Wondering if he was possibly still upstairs, Ronnie stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked hesitantly up into the darkness.  
  
Ronnie was about to open her mouth to call for him, when she felt another presence in the room.  
  
Turning, she saw John was standing on the far side of the room, next to the fire.  
  
Ronnie frowned. Where had he come from? Their group had walked past that fireplace just moments before. She was certain he hadn't been there at the time. And if he had been behind her, like she thought he was, it would have been impossible for him to have moved there without her seeing him or hearing his footsteps.  
  
And why was he wearing a different shirt? Before, he had been wearing a simple, dark blue button-down shirt. Now, he was wearing a black t-shirt.  
  
But that wasn't what scared her the most.  
  
What scared her the most was the look in his eyes.  
  
The kindness in them had been replaced with what seemed like a thousand different emotions. But most prominent was the despair that filled those eyes and made him seem years older than he really was.  
  
He didn't smile. He didn't move. He only stood there in perfect stillness and stared at her.  
  
Ronnie wanted nothing more than to run up the stairs, but she forced herself to take three steps towards him. And instantly, she recoiled, because that strange feeling that had started in her stomach when she entered the house, and had since worked it's way up to her chest, became so strong that she had to retreat back to the staircase.  
  
And still, he stared.  
  
Ronnie tried once more to walk towards him, and failed. Feeling tears of frustration and fear burning her throat, she knew she would only feel safe once she rejoined the group. Which was _ridiculous_. John had always been her safe haven.  
  
Gritting her teeth, Ronnie stepped towards him once more and this time forced herself to keep walking. She tried her best to ignore the way the hair on the back of her neck was standing up and the feeling of terror that was threatening to wash over her. She felt terribly, terribly sick.  
  
John's eyes followed her as she approached and stopped directly in front of him. She looked into his eyes and, fighting her unreasonable discomfort, she said, "I...I think everyone went this way."  
  
And then she turned and practically ran from the entryway, as she desperately hoped that the others were near.  
  
John followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the dark while home alone and literally just frightened myself out of my wits. That being said, hope you enjoy!!


	3. Chapter 3

Freddie gasped as the small group was led into a large dining room lit with what appeared to be hundreds of candles.  
  
"Romantic candlelight!" he exclaimed.  
  
"More like a romantic fire hazard," Brian muttered as Prenter motioned to a table that seemed entirely too small for the grand room they were now standing in.  
  
"Please," Prenter said hospitably. "Be my guests."  
  
Roger immediately sat in a chair and put on his best tourist face as he took in his surroundings.  
  
Anita was about to quickly circle the table to seize the chair that would be the farthest away from Brian, but Prenter's cold hand grasped her wrist.  
  
"You look...deathly pale, my dear," he said in a low voice. "Perhaps you should...take a seat." And with that being said, he sat her in the chair directly next to Brian.  
  
Anita shifted uncomfortably in her seat and watched as Ronnie entered the room. If it wouldn't have been such an utter cliche in this apparently haunted house, Anita would have said she looked like she'd seen a ghost. Ronnie sat herself next to Anita, clasped her hands together, and stared down at her lap.  
  
John, who hadn't been far behind, took the remaining chair across from Ronnie and also quickly looked away. Anita wondered when he had had time to change his shirt.  
  
Floor to ceiling windows lined the walls at regular intervals, and a sharp rap on a pane of glass caused the entire group to look in that direction. When it became clear nothing was there, they turned their attention back to the table, only to see Prenter sitting at the head of the table in a chair that had not been there before.  
  
Roger's jaw dropped. "Did you see that?"  
  
Freddie quickly looked around. "See what, darling?"  
  
"That chair wasn't there before!"  
  
"Of course it was," Prenter said dismissively.  
  
Roger frowned, before perking up once more. "Is this going to be a dinner murder mystery?"  
  
"Sure," Prenter answered. "All of you against...well, how about each other? Last man alive gets to leave in the morning."  
  
The entire table - including John and Ronnie - looked up and stared at him.  
  
A dark smile slowly spread across Prenter's face, before he threw his head back and laughed.  
  
"I'm joking," he said, and Roger looked relieved.  
  
Crystal glasses of alcohol, cups of hot tea, and platters of food were already lining the table...though every person at the table would have said they didn't remember them being there before, before doubting their own intuitions and deciding they must have been there all along.  
  
Sort of like Prenter's chair.  
  
It was the most awkward dinner that Anita had ever had the displeasure to sit through. The food was decent, but the conversation was sparse, and they mostly ate in silence. She was painfully aware of Brian's presence to her left, and overly conscious of the strange tension that had developed between Ronnie and John. The air felt so...thick.  
  
Roger banged his dinner roll against the table. It was hard as a rock.  
  
"Would you rather be dead?" Prenter offered, before quickly saying, "I mean, eat bread?"  
  
"I'd rather be dead than eat this," Roger muttered.  
  
"Roger!" Brian admonished him.  
  
"So Anita, dear," Prenter said suddenly.  
  
Anita was pulled out of her thoughts, which had turned to ways she could thoroughly ruin Brian's dining experience.  
  
"Are you from around...here?" Prenter asked casually.  
  
The way he was looking at her...like he knew something...and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.  
  
_Am I from around here? Actually, no. I'm from the future. Yes, the future, as in 1999, and I'm here to make Queen's guitarist's life a living hell. No, not John, the other one._  
  
Though John already looked like he was going through hell. Had he looked like that before?  
  
"No," Anita said carefully. "I'm not from around here."  
  
"And what do you do?" Prenter pressed her.  
  
"I'm an actress," Anita said immediately, because the answer came so naturally to her, but it was then that she remembered that in 1971 she was not yet well known.  
  
"You are?" Roger asked with interest.  
  
"You act as if you've never seen one before," Brian said dryly.  
  
"You'll have to excuse him," Freddie said apologetically to Anita. "Our Roger isn't used to interacting with grown up women. You know, with careers."  
  
Roger looked offended. "I interact with _plenty_ of women!" He turned to Anita. "In fact, women love me."  
  
"Silly little girls love him," Freddie said with a laugh.  
  
Anita found her fingers were inching towards the salt shaker as she tried to think of a way she could pour it into Brian's lap while making it look like a complete accident.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ronnie nervously drop her fork on the floor. John, finally tearing his eyes away from his plate, looked up and offered her his own fork.  
  
It was an incredibly sweet gesture, so it didn't make sense why Ronnie was so hesitant to accept it. She reached out slowly and uncertainly, and when her fingers made contact with the utensil, she jumped, as if she had been shocked.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
John lowered his gaze once more, but not before Anita saw the deep _sadness_ in his eyes. Where had that come from?  
  
Something wasn't right in this house. In fact, something was totally _wrong_. With a careless flick of the wrist, Anita knocked the salt shaker over the edge of the table.  
  
She was dismayed when Brian caught it effortlessly and placed it in front of her. "I think you dropped this," he said kindly.  
  
Anita wanted so badly to stomp on his foot. "Thank you," she mumbled, refusing to look at him.  
  
At that moment, a loud bang came from the second floor, the noise reverberating through the dining room ceiling and causing the chandelier to shake.  
  
"What was that?" Roger asked quickly.  
  
Prenter lifted his gaze towards the ceiling, before lazily allowing it to settle back on the table. "It's a secret."  
  
Roger nodded, as if this made total sense.  
  
"Nasty little things, secrets," Prenter continued, as he rose from his chair. "We all have them, of course, but I find saying them out loud actually sets you free."  
  
Anita thought of Brian in 1999. _Fucking secrets_, she thought to herself.  
  
"Try it," Prenter encouraged. "Roger, you first. What secret of yours is begging to be known?"  
  
Roger thought about it for a moment before saying, "I told Brian I liked his concert guitar solos but it was a lie."  
  
Brian blinked a few times.  
  
"You don't _like_ them?" Freddie said curiously. "What have they ever done to you, darling?"  
  
"They're just so...I don't know, Brian!" Roger sounded frustrated. "They're so long!"  
  
"Well, what else am I supposed to do for the audience while Freddie is changing his outfit?" Brian shot back. "Give them an astronomy lesson?"  
  
Roger sighed. "If you want!"  
  
"Well, would you like to do drum solos instead?"  
  
"Fuck no! So everyone can tell if I mess up?"  
  
"You mean _when_ you mess up," Brian muttered.  
  
Before Roger could open his mouth, Prenter smirked. "That was a nice start but...I don't think you're being entirely honest with each other."  
  
"That wasn't honest?" Freddie asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Deep, _dark_ secrets," Prenter explained. "I trust you all received my note about encountering your deepest desires and your greatest fears tonight? You may find that those _secrets_ you're holding onto right now are inexplicably linked to those desires and fears."  
  
"Psychology 101," Roger whispered. "This must be _your_ kind of haunted house, Bri."  
  
"Allow me to assist," Prenter said, as he put his hands on the table and leaned forward, towards Ronnie. "Let's start with you, shall we, my dear?"  
  
Anita sensed that Ronnie was gripping the sides of her chair.  
  
"You're pregnant," Prenter said simply.  
  
Ronnie stared at Prenter in horror, before looking away.  
  
"That's why you haven't touched your alcohol, isn't it?" Prenter observed, before turning to John. "And you're madly in love with someone at this table. That's why you've consumed _all_ of your alcohol, along with most of Freddie's."  
  
Anita could tell that John was challenging himself to keep eye contact with Prenter, but with a pained expression he glanced at Ronnie, before looking down.  
  
"Oh darling," Freddie said sadly and patted John's back.  
  
Prenter slowly circled the table before stopping behind Freddie and putting his hands on the back of his chair. Leaning over his shoulder, he said quietly, "Your secret is that you are gayer than a daffodil."  
  
Freddie went entirely still, his eyes wide, before he recovered himself and said airily, "Tell me, darling, how gay _is_ a daffodil, exactly?"  
  
Prenter ignored him, and turned his attention to Anita, across the table from Freddie. "Your significant other was unfaithful," he said softly. "And it's driving you _mad_."  
  
Anita stared at him in shock, before the familiar burning sensation she felt whenever she thought of Brian returned to her stomach. Mortified, she dropped her head into her hands and felt Brian's eyes on her.  
  
"And Roger!" Prenter said cheerfully. "_You_ made a sex tape."  
  
Freddie spit out his drink.  
  
"I didn't need to know that," Brian mumbled, running a hand down his face.  
  
"And you _liked_ it," Prenter added.  
  
"Liar!" Roger said loudly.  
  
"Or are you lying to yourself?" Prenter asked. "Remember, deepest desires. Greatest fears." He turned to Brian. "And you."  
  
Brian tore his gaze away from a clearly distraught Anita and glared at Prenter.  
  
"You're regretting your decision to join this band," Prenter said knowingly.  
  
Brian stared at Prenter with a look of pure loathing, but said nothing.  
  
With a self-satisfied smug, Prenter walked backwards until he reached the dining room doors. "If you'll excuse me, I have to attend to a quick matter." And then he disappeared.  
  
It was silent for only a few moments, before pure chaos hit the table.  
  
"You regret joining Queen?" Roger shouted at Brian.  
  
Brian ignored him, and turned to Anita. "Anita, are you all right?"  
  
Feeling Brian whisper in her ear was too much and Anita's hand jerked away, inadvertently knocking over her cup of tea into Brian's lap. As the hot liquid hit his legs, he let out a hiss.  
  
Anita internally cheered. That was better than pouring salt in his lap.  
  
"Ronnie, darling, congratulations!" Freddie exclaimed.  
  
Ronnie looked at him helplessly, just as Brian looked up at Anita. Anita was stunned to see that he looked hurt. As if she had done it on purpose. Which she wished she had.  
  
"Deaky, who are you in love with?" Roger asked curiously, leaning over Freddie to get a good look at the bassist, who had just drained the rest of Freddie's glass of alcohol.  
  
"Why didn't you _tell_ me you made a sex tape?" Freddie asked Roger, sounding betrayed.  
  
"What?" Roger exclaimed. "Why would I tell you that, Freddie!"  
  
Anita felt a disappointed feeling spreading through her chest. Was she actually _regretting_ pouring hot tea on Brian? Why didn't she feel more victorious?  
  
Brian stood up abruptly, as Roger picked up Brian's full glass of alcohol and offered it to John. But before John could take it, Ronnie snatched it out of Roger's hand.  
  
_You're better than this, Anita,_ Anita thought to herself.  
  
John leaned towards Ronnie, who jumped out of her chair.  
  
Unable to shake the feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach, Anita angrily grabbed one of the heavy cloth napkins and grabbing Brian's arm, sat him roughly back in his chair. Kneeling in front of him, she dipped the napkin in a pitcher of cool water, before pressing it against his soaked thighs.

"Secrets, my arse!" Freddie said hotly. "Like you all couldn't tell that I was gayer than a daffodil? That's no secret!"

"I don't know, mate," Roger said thoughtfully. "I thought you could swing either way, honestly."  
  
"Anita, you don't...you don't have to do that," Brian said quietly, reaching for her hand, but Anita quickly pulled it away.  
  
"I'm sorry," Anita said, looking up at him. "I didn't mean for that to happen." And unfortunately, she was being honest.  
  
Brian said nothing, but aimed a look her way that was full of understanding and compassion, and Anita knew he was thinking of her secret that Prenter had blurted out in front of everyone.  
  
She didn't want his sympathy. And she couldn't allow him to pull her in, like he was doing now, with those eyes and that look and...  
  
...grasping Brian's knees, Anita pulled herself up, making sure to step on his foot once more with her sharp heel. Brian let out a grunt of pain.  
  
"Brian," Freddie said quietly. "You truly don't want to be part of this band?"  
  
Brian shook his head. "It's...more complicated than that."  
  
"So you admit it?" Roger growled.  
  
"Why didn't you tell us?" Freddie demanded.  
  
"Because I _do_ want to be part of the band," Brian insisted, as Anita wandered away, to stare out one of the windows. The dining room was dim enough to show her that it was still pouring relentlessly outside.  
  
"Good," Roger said darkly. "I'm glad that's settled."  
  
"But we are getting _nowhere_," Brian went on. "Traveling around in a run down van and playing pubs - we haven't even recorded an album yet!"  
  
"We will, darling," Freddie promised.  
  
"I don't know what to tell you," Roger said irritably. "That's what bands do. I'm sorry we didn't immediately bring you fame and fortune!"  
  
"Roger," Freddie warned him gently.  
  
"_We're_ struggling, too!" Roger said tersely. "But everything is always about you and your fucking thirty minute guitar solos!"  
  
Brian looked taken aback. "Excuse me, they are not _that_ long."  
  
"They would be, if you had your way!"  
  
"You're exaggerating," Brian said angrily. "Per usual!"  
  
"Well, exaggerate _this_," Roger said loudly as he stood up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Write a good song for once and maybe we'd get somewhere!"  
  
Brian looked hurt, before swiftly hiding it and saying fiercely, "I don't see you writing anything! Or are you too busy making sex tapes?"  
  
"That's _it!"_ Roger shouted. "I'm leaving! I'm leaving right now!"  
  
"Then GO!" Brian groaned.  
  
"It's this _house_!" Ronnie whispered suddenly, as Roger stormed to the double doors. "It's making us all crazy!"  
  
Roger grasped the door handles and pulled. When the doors didn't budge, he tried again and again, before giving up and slapping a hand against the wood.  
  
"Prenter has locked us in!" he exclaimed.  
  
Anita turned away from the window, strode over to the doors, and pulled on the handles. Sure enough, Roger was correct.  
  
"What a shame," Brian said tersely to Roger. "Now you have to stay here and have a civilized conversation with us, instead of running away from your problems."  
  
Roger spun around. "Don't you _dare_ \- "  
  
"Stop!" John said suddenly, standing up.  
  
Surprised, everyone did just that.  
  
"Don't you see?" John said very quietly. "None of this matters! It's not important that Brian wants to leave the band or that Roger made a tape or that Freddie is gay. We shouldn't be focusing on that. What's important is the fact that Prenter knew all of this in the first place."  
  
His words hit the rest of the band like a soothing balm, and they all nodded.  
  
Leaning against the door, Anita couldn't help but think to herself that this John seemed entirely different from the one she had met earlier in the evening. He seemed...older, wiser, and infinitely distressed.  
  
Perhaps something had happened between him and Ronnie? Though if she remembered correctly, they hadn't been dating yet at this point in time...  
  
Anita glanced over at Ronnie to see how she was reacting to what was happening to them and watched as Ronnie placed a protective hand over her stomach.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie was still holding the crystal goblet of alcohol, lest John should get his hands on it. It was too early in time for John to have an alcohol problem, but all she could think of was how readily he had turned to it in the eighties, and that prevented her from putting the glass back on the table within his reach.  
  
At that moment, an ear piercing scream echoed through the room. It wasn't coming from within the dining room, but it was certainly nearby, and startled, Ronnie dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor.  
  
Then the lights went out. With a soft whoosh, the candles blew themselves out.  
  
Frantic sounds of movement suddenly filled the room as fear made them all irrational and they all tried to flee, though they were obviously locked in with absolutely nowhere to go. Hands seized Ronnie's arms and terrified, she struggled against whoever had hold of her, as a frightening sensation of despair spread slowly through her chest and someone said her name.  
  
Pulling her right arm free, she swung and felt her first make contact with something. Whoever was holding her let go, and she ran in what she hoped was the opposite direction.   
The lights came abruptly back on, blinding everyone momentarily.  
  
Roger was clinging to Brian, his face in his shoulder. "Brian! Go investigate!"  
  
Brian put a gentle hand on his back, while looking around for Anita, who was clinging to Freddie's hands.  
  
Ronnie looked around for John and found him kneeling amidst the broken glass. His hand was covering his mouth.  
  
It was so similar to the way she had left John in 1993 that Ronnie felt physically sick. The only difference was that they had exchanged porcelain for glass, and tea for alcohol.  
  
"Darling," Freddie said quickly, as he knelt beside his friend and gently tugged his hand away from his mouth.  
  
Ronnie saw that John had been trying to conceal a cut lip. Blood ran freely down his chin and she realized then who had taken hold of her in the dark, and who she had struck.  
  
"I...I just didn't want you to step in the glass," John whispered, and his eyes scared her more than before because the depth of pain was almost endless and there was absolutely no reason that 1971's John should be feeling so strongly about her.  
  
Ronnie opened her mouth, feeling she should apologize and desperately wanting to comfort him, but something felt so very wrong, and the feeling of despair that had been steadily growing ever since she had entered the house was now gripping her heart so tightly that she almost couldn't breath.  
  
"This isn't funny anymore," Roger whispered. "I want to leave."  
  
Brian opened his mouth to mention that they wouldn't be in this position if Roger hadn't thrown their map out the window, but Roger looked so sincerely frightened that he merely said, "We're going to be all right."  
  
Ronnie turned on her heel and running for the doors, tried not to think about how she was leaving John behind _again_. She took hold of the door handles and prayed they'd open for her. To her surprise, they opened immediately and she walked directly into Prenter.  
  
"What was _that?"_ she said in a low, dangerous voice.  
  
Prenter gazed back at her calmly. "What was what?"  
  
"We were locked in this room, the lights went out, and someone screamed!" Ronnie whispered tightly.  
  
"My apologies," Prenter replied. "Sometimes these doors get stuck. The storm caused the power to go off momentarily. And I didn't hear a scream."  
  
As Ronnie stared into Prenter's eyes, she suddenly began to doubt herself. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was all merely coincidence.  
  
"I think you're overtired, my dear," Prenter said, taking her by the arm, leading her away and motioning for everyone else to follow. "You likely heard a wild animal. We are in the woods, after all, miles away from civilization."  
  
Ronnie, feeling dazed, allowed him to lead her to the staircase. He was right. It was probably just an animal.  
  
But the moment she reached her room, her common sense returned and slamming the door shut, she locked it tightly.  
  
Crawling onto the giant bed, she called out in a shaking voice, "Freddie! _Freddie!"_  
  
When no one appeared, she began to panic and spinning around on the bed, she bumped directly into Spirit Freddie, who was sitting calmly and cross-legged in the center.  
  
"Oh, Freddie!" Ronnie exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder. "Freddie, send me home!"  
  
Spirit Freddie frowned. "But Ronnie, my dear, you've barely been here a few hours."  
  
"I've been here long enough," Ronnie whispered, though she felt a tad bit safer as she felt his arms circle her. "I don't feel right. I feel like the happiness has been sucked out of me."  
  
Freddie rocked her gently and listened patiently.  
  
"And John is acting weird, and Prenter is a creep, and I'm scared! I'm so scared!"  
  
"Are you certain you want to leave?" Freddie asked doubtfully. "If you go back to the future, I may not be able to get you back to the past ever again."  
  
"I don't care!" Ronnie moaned into his shoulder.  
  
Freddie pulled back, so that Ronnie was looking directly at him. "Listen to me, darling. Won't you give it just a little bit longer? I truly believe you can help John by being here."  
  
"I just punched him in the face, Freddie!"  
  
Freddie winced. "So I saw."

"So how am I helping him?"  
  
"I don't know that yet," Freddie said honestly. "That's what we're here to find out, darling."  
  
Ronnie shook her head as tears filled her eyes once more.  
  
"I know you're frightened, my dear," Freddie said, patting her cheek. "But I wouldn't let anything happened to you. I'm always here with you, even if you can't see me."  
  
Ronnie wiped her tears away. "Do you promise?"  
  
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Freddie said solemnly, before grinning. "Except I'm already dead."  
  
Ronnie pushed him away playfully.  
  
"You're going to be fine," Spirit Freddie promised. "But if you find you truly wish to leave, just call on me once more and I'll send you home."

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared.  
  
\---  
  
Anita shut the door, before turning and leaning her back against it. Sliding to the floor, she sighed in frustration and muttered, "Oh, Freddie."  
  
"You rang, darling?"  
  
Anita lifted her head to see Spirit Freddie sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
"No," she said.  
  
"But you said my name."  
  
"Yes, in exasperation. I wasn't calling you!"  
  
"Anytime you say my name when you're alone is considered calling on me," Freddie pointed out.  
  
"I didn't know that!" Anita protested. "Please tell me this doesn't count as my first cry for help."  
  
"I'm afraid it does, dear. You have two left."  
  
Anita ran a hand down her face.  
  
"And besides," Freddie said, giving her a look. "Really, darling? Really?"  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Anita asked.  
  
"Don't think for even a second that I don't know what you're up to."  
  
Anita folded her arms and looked away.  
  
"There's no reason to take your aggression out on 1971's Brian," Freddie said in a firm voice. "He's done nothing to you."  
  
"He will in the future," Anita whispered.  
  
"You're here to prevent that," Freddie reminded her, as he knelt beside her on the floor.  
  
Anita looked up at him doubtfully.  
  
"This is a rebirth," Freddie said gently, as he kissed her on the forehead. "A renewal. A new beginning. Don't set it on fire before it's even begun."  
  
And with those words, he was gone.  
  
Anita kicked off her heels as she thought about Freddie's words. Perhaps Freddie was right. Trying to cause Brian physical pain had done absolutely no good. The man was so _resilient_.  
  
Unless...  
  
A smile slowly spread across Anita's face. Physical pain wasn't working, but there was always _emotional_ pain.  
  
She had told Prenter she was an actress. And she was. She would act nice towards Brian, make him believe in her, and then...  
  
She was going to break his heart. Just like he'd broken hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

_Roger twirled his drumsticks through his fingers as he sat on a bench and waited for a bell to indicate that his next class had started. He liked to arrive fashionably late and if he had calculated the time correctly, he still had at least five minutes until he could make his grand entrance.  
_  
_Not that he even wanted to go to the class. Dentistry was proving to be a rather boring choice of study. What he really wanted to do was join a band, but here he was, waiting to go into a small, cramped room to learn all about cavities and root canals.  
_  
_"Hey, Taylor!"  
_  
_Roger stopped twirling and looked up to see a group of tough boys approaching.  
_  
_"What are you trying to do, put someone's eye out?" One of the boys exclaimed.  
_  
_"That would be a blessing," another boy pointed out. "Then we wouldn't have to look at him."  
_  
_The entire group laughed.  
_  
_"Piss off," Roger growled.  
_  
_"Why don't you get a haircut?" The first boy suggested. "Then maybe you'd look like a man."  
_  
_"Nah," a third boy said. "He's too pretty to be a man."  
_  
_"At least I don't look like a fucking ape," Roger hissed. "Now get out of my sight."  
_  
_"Sharp tongue," the second boy noted.  
_  
_"Well, something about him has to be sharp," a fourth boy said cruelly. "What with those soft curls, soft lips, and soft curves and..."  
_  
_"...you'd think he was a fucking woman," the third boy howled. "Not fucking them!"  
_  
_Roger raised his drumsticks threateningly as he jumped up from the bench and lunged towards the boys. They scattered, but they were still laughing.  
_  
_After they had disappeared, Roger swallowed the lump in his throat, before angrily throwing his sticks in a nearby trash can. He walked away, in the opposite direction of the school, deciding he'd really rather not make an entrance today.  
_  
Roger woke up with a start and rolling over, he grasped the clock next to the bed and held it close to his face. He had literally only been sleeping for twenty minutes.  
  
Getting out of bed, he flicked on every lamp in the room, and standing before a mirror, scrutinized his appearance closely.  
  
Roger often revisited that moment in time in dreams. It hadn't been the first time he'd been made fun of for his appearance, but it was the time that stuck with him most closely, perhaps because he was already so emotionally charged that day thinking about his future - or lack thereof. Though he really rather wished he could forget the memory altogether.  
  
Because it reminded him of his greatest fear: social unacceptance. And his greatest desire: to be physically admired.  
  
Startled, Roger shook his head. Was Prenter playing games with him?  
  
But no matter how hard he tried to push all thoughts of fears and desires out of his head, he still found himself climbing onto the giant bureau, sitting in a cross-legged position, and putting his nose right up to the glass.  
  
And so Roger sat there. He sat and he stared at his reflection, the laughter of the boys still echoing in his ears.  
  
\---  
  
_"Have you told your parents yet?"  
_  
_Freddie sent a sideways glance at the man sitting next to him at the bar.  
_  
_"That I'm going to be a famous performer?" Freddie said lightly. "Obviously."  
_  
_"No," the man - who Freddie had just met twenty minutes ago - said firmly. "Have you told them you're gay?"  
_  
_Freddie was about to open his mouth to demand how he knew that, before he remembered he was sitting in a gay bar. So instead, he inspected his drink closely and replied, "Not yet."  
_  
_"Do yourself a favor and don't," the man - who was really quite beautiful - said bluntly.  
_  
_"And why not?" Freddie asked, looking up curiously.  
_  
_"Because they won't accept it," the man said. "Mine didn't."  
_  
_Freddie took a generous sip of his drink, giving himself time to think about his response.  
_  
_"They'll tell you exactly what they told me," the man continued. "That I'll never be loved. That because I chose to pursue the same sex, I will never _truly_ be loved. It's all artificial. That life is going to be incredibly difficult for me."  
_  
_"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Freddie asked carefully.  
_  
_The man shrugged, but his tone was bitter. "I'm not sure yet."  
_  
_Freddie wanted desperately to get away from thoughts of his parents and the idea of acceptance, because if he was being honest, the idea of telling them made him extremely anxious. He was the product of proper parents from Zanzibar and though he knew he was loved, he didn't know how they would react to his news.  
_  
_And so, Freddie slid off the bar stool and held out his hand to the man. "I could show you a thing or two about love, darling."  
_  
_The man's face slowly broke into a smile, and taking Freddie's hand, he followed him to the bathroom.  
_  
_Though Freddie knew that this wasn't love at all.  
_  
Freddie slowly opened his eyes as he heard something slap against his window. Gingerly removing himself from the bed, he parted the curtains and peered through the glass.  
  
Only to see Prenter's note about fears and desires stuck against the windowpane. Disgusted, Freddie closed the curtains with a dramatic flourish and thought about how Prenter had disclosed to the entire table that he was gay. Which was really not much of a revelation.  
  
Freddie had completely accepted and even embraced his sexuality. But the truth was, his deepest fear was being alone forever. And his deepest desire was to be loved. Truly loved. Unconditionally loved.  
  
But he was still in the early stages of his discovery about himself and he was not yet confident that he would find love. Or that he'd find anyone who would love him as he was. And as time went on, he found that's all he wanted - to find somebody to love.  
  
Perhaps they were out there, but Freddie couldn't dwell on the subject for too long without becoming distraught, and so he let himself out of his room and tiptoed down the hall to Brian's room.  
  
\---  
  
Brian sat on the floor of his room, positioned a fresh sheet of paper on his knee, and once more began to write obsessively about zodiacal dust.  
  
It wasn't his first attempt of the evening. In fact, he was sitting in a giant wasteland of crumpled paper balls. After waking from a disorienting dream, which was really more of a memory, Brian had decided that since he was stuck in the middle of nowhere and he couldn't sleep, what better time to begin to write his thesis?  
  
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get past the first few sentences. And so, he'd give up, crush the paper in his fist, and throw it onto the floor, before beginning again. And again. And again and again and again.  
  
Sighing, Brian ripped his current attempt in half, leaned his head back against the wall, and allowed his dream to come back to him.  
  
_"You can't be serious."  
_  
_Brian blinked at his professor. "Sir?"  
_  
_"You're abandoning your doctoral studies for a rock and roll group?"  
_  
_"No," Brian answered respectfully. "I'm taking a short break. I fully intend to return to my studies."  
_  
_"There's no room for breaks in this field! I strongly urge you to reconsider."  
_  
_Brian looked helplessly at his professor.  
_  
_"You are an exceptional scientist, May," the professor said. "You have so much potential to do good in this field. Don't waste that on something that isn't going to last."  
_  
_Brian took a deep breath.  
_  
_"I truly appreciate your advice, sir," he said bravely. "But this is something I feel I need to do."  
_  
_"Mark my words," the professor said tersely. "You won't return. You will be swept away in that vulgar world and you won't find your way back here."  
_  
_"With all due respect, sir, I disagree." And with that being said, Brian began to back away towards the door.  
_  
_"You're throwing your life away, May."  
_  
_"I'll see you in a couple of months," Brian said pleasantly, before leaving the room.  
_  
_But once he was in the hallway, he stopped and acknowledged the terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Was he doing the right thing? He enjoyed being a musician, but Queen hadn't exactly gained any success as of yet...  
_  
_...but Freddie was so certain that it was within their reach.  
_  
_Brian firmly shook his head and kept walking. After all, it was only a few months and then he'd return to school.  
_  
A sharp knock on the door pulled Brian from his thoughts. Not that he was complaining about the interruption. He thought about that moment with his professor often enough while he was awake, and so he certainly didn't care to revisit it in dreams. The moment had occurred only months before, and though he still fully intended to go back to obtain his PhD, the fact was that he hadn't. And he doubted his decision every day.  
  
It only further mirrored his deepest fear: failure. And his greatest desire: to be successful in every endeavor he was passionate about.  
  
As another impatient knock sounded on his door, Brian thought uneasily about Prenter's note, which was squashed on the floor somewhere in his thesis graveyard. Was there a way to be successful in his doctoral studies and in a band? Was there a balance?  
  
Brian realized he wasn't sure so he tossed his pen aside and with a sigh, called, "Come in."  
  
\---  
  
_"John, dear?"  
_  
_An eleven year old John looked up and blinked back tears. "Yes, mum?"  
_  
_Lillian Deacon knelt in front of her son and brushed his hair away from his face. "It's time to say goodbye, my love."  
_  
_John looked at his shoes and nodded.  
_  
_"And perhaps after, we could get ice cream?" Lillian suggested.  
_  
_"All right," John agreed quietly.  
_  
_Taking his little hand in hers, Lillian led John to the freshly dug grave and knelt before it. John got to his knees beside her, not caring that his only black suit was going to get dirty.  
_  
_He listened as his mum's gentle voice prattled on, talking to the dirt on the ground. His father was underneath there somewhere and that's where he'd stay. Forever.  
_  
_John's lower lip trembled. They would never go trainspotting again, or fishing, or tinker with electronics together. He'd never hear his laugh or see his smile or hold his hand. It was over.  
_  
_John felt like his life was over, as well. He hadn't been ready to lose his father.  
_  
_Lillian kissed her fingertips and pressed them against the stone cold grave, before rising from the ground, brushing off her knees, and wiping away her tears.  
_  
_Two tears rolled down John's face and fell in the dirt that was now his father's home. He got to his feet, not bothering to clean himself off, and followed his mother to their car, where his sister - who had already said her farewells - was sadly waiting.  
_  
_"Where would you like to go, dear?" Lillian asked John gently.  
_  
_"I just want to go home," John whispered. "I don't want ice cream."  
_  
_Lillian looked sadly at her son. "Oh, sweetheart. Then that's where we'll go."  
_  
_John was quiet the entire ride home, and it was only once they were safely home that he allowed himself to sprint up the stairs, lock himself in his room, and cry himself to sleep.  
_  
_He didn't even bother taking off his suit, and he didn't care that the dirt from his father's grave was staining his blankets. In fact, it made him feel closer to him.  
_  
_It would be weeks before John let his mum wash his sheets.  
_  
John thought about this as he sat on the bathroom floor and held a wet tissue to his split lip. Ever since this childhood experience, his greatest fear had been losing a loved one. That was his greatest fear now and he knew it always would be.  
  
He pressed the tissue to his mouth over and over again, because each fresh prick of pain in his lip took away a little bit of the emotional pain he was feeling. But it was only temporary.  
  
And as for his greatest desire...well, that was entirely obvious. It was Ronnie.  
  
John leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes as he tried not to think about her, and failed miserably.  
  
\---  
  
Anita lay in her bed, her eyes wide, and wondered if anyone else was finding it difficult to sleep in this house of terror.  
  
Prenter's note was crushed in her fist; she didn't need anyone to lecture her about fears and desires. She had already experienced her deepest desire - to find her soulmate. And she'd encountered her greatest fear - to be abandoned by said soulmate. And over and over, she replayed in her mind her fight with Brian in 1999.  
  
Perhaps putting her new found plan into action would make her feel better. She sat up in the huge bed, stretched, and slipped her heels back on.  
  
It was time to make friends with Brian.  
  
But once she was out in the hall, she found herself stopping in front of Ronnie's door. Ronnie was so _young_ and clearly so afraid and she was pregnant and appeared to be all alone.  
  
Anita raised her first and knocked on the door, feeling she should really check to make sure she was all right before she terrorized Brian.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie was lying on her side in the middle of the massive bed, hugging a pillow to her chest and trying not to be angry with Spirit Freddie for insisting she stay in this house of hell.  
  
All she could think about was John. _John._ Ronnie had thought to herself earlier in the van that sadness had not yet stamped it's mark on him, but had she been wrong? The John she had met at the cemetery seemed so..._normal_...and the John she had been forced to have dinner with in the dining room was so clearly distraught.  
  
Had something drastic happened to him before dinner? Ronnie frowned. Was it because he had learned she was married? Yet he had only known her an hour, so how could that have affected him so deeply? Unless it had been love at first sight.  
  
And she had hit him! Ronnie buried her face in the pillow. If she had been in her right mind, she would have comforted him, but she was so afraid of him, to the point where she could not physically make herself go near him. And she didn't know why.  
  
It only further reminded her that her greatest fear was to see someone she loved suffer. Like she had watched John suffer ever since Freddie's death. And the terrible sadness that was weighing heavily on her chest only reminded her that her greatest desire was happiness, for them all, and that it seemed entirely unobtainable.  
  
A knock sounded on her door and Ronnie's first instinct was to hide under the bed. But she pushed the feeling away as she put her pillow aside and opened the door.  
  
She was surprised to see Anita standing there with a sympathetic smile. "I wanted to see how you were doing," she said kindly, "after the scene in the dining room."  
  
Ronnie was grateful for Anita's presence, because it made her feel a little less alone. "I'm...fine, I suppose," she answered, though Anita could tell she was anything but fine.  
  
"I was just going to see Brian," Anita said and offered her arm. "Would you like to come?"  
  
Ronnie took Anita's arm instantly, wanting desperately to be away from the solitude of the big, dark room. "Yes, please," she said quickly, and allowed Anita to lead her down the hall.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie folded his arms as he stood over Brian, who was still sitting on the ground in a sea of crumpled paper.  
  
"Failure?" he said doubtfully. "That's what this is all about? I don't think it _is_ possible for you to fail at something, darling."  
  
"Yeah," Roger agreed as he watched himself in Brian's mirror. "Because you're so smart, Bri. If you switch the I and the A in your name, it even spells brain."  
  
Brian stared at Roger, obviously trying to decide if he should be insulted or flattered. Finally, he decided to ignore it, and crushed another piece of paper between his fingers.  
  
"I just don't know what I did to make Anita _hate_ me so much," he said bitterly, as he threw the paper ball across the room.  
  
"Why don't you talk to her and find out?" Freddie suggested.  
  
"No," Brian said flatly.  
  
Freddie frowned. Brian could be stubborn, but he was never _this_ stubborn. And he was sure it had everything to do with the house.  
  
"Well, at least you're loved for who you are!" Freddie said accusingly.  
  
Brian looked incredulous. "By who, my _mum?"_  
  
"Yes, by your mum!" Freddie replied hotly, trying not to think how much he wanted his own mum to love him for who _he_ really was.  
  
Brian was about to open his mouth, when out of the corner of the eye, he noticed Roger pressing his hands against the mirror as he let out a frustrated growl.  
  
"What are you doing?" Brian asked curiously.  
  
"I'm ugly, Brian!"  
  
"What? Roger, you're so pretty that it sickens me."  
  
"I don't want to be _pretty_!" Roger burst out as he turned away from his reflection.  
  
"Well, you are," Brian said irritably. "Your beauty makes me physically ill."  
  
Freddie grasped Roger's wrist and pulled him away from the mirror, just as someone knocked on the door. Answering it, he immediately waved Anita and Ronnie in. "Quickly," he whispered. "Before the desires and fears sneak in, too."  
  
"There's no such thing as desires and fears!" Roger said loudly.  
  
Anita took a few steps into the room and tripped over Brian. He reached out to steady her and instantly, all her well-laid plans to make friends with him were forgotten. She quickly retreated away from him.  
  
"Honestly, you two!" Freddie exclaimed. "You'd think you were at war!"  
  
Brian folded his arms and looked away.  
  
Freddie gently took Anita by the arm and led her back to Brian. "You are both going to be stuck in this house together all night so you might as well make peace. Now, say something nice about each other!"  
  
Anita swallowed hard. There were plenty of nice things she could have said to him before...the incident. "Your hair is very..." Anita paused. "Curly."  
  
Roger jealously ran a hand through his own hair.  
  
"I think," Brian began.   
  
"Yes?" Freddie encouraged him.  
  
"I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met," Brian said quietly.  
  
Anita's mouth fell open. Speechless, she felt guilt once more take hold of her as she numbly took a seat on Brian's bed.  
  
There was another knock on the door, and tired of answering it, Freddie shouted lazily, "Come in, if you dare!"  
  
The door opened slightly and John poked his head in. Ronnie found herself leaning back in her chair, as if it would offer her an escape route.  
  
Roger was just about to wistfully admire how beautiful John was, when he noticed...  
  
"Deaky, your lip!" he exclaimed. "It's magically healed!"  
  
John stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him, and Ronnie was completely shocked to see that he was once again wearing the navy blue button-down shirt he had arrived in. And that Roger was right - there was no sign of trauma to his face.  
  
Furthermore, Ronnie could find no trace of sadness in his eyes and no signs of heartbreak on his face. In fact, she only saw confusion, as John touched his lip and looked at Roger questioningly.  
  
Ronnie rose to her feet and went to him. She found she had no trouble walking directly up to him and standing so close to him that they were almost chest to chest. Why didn't she feel afraid?  
  
"Can I speak to you for a moment?" Ronnie whispered to him.  
  
John nodded and followed her out into the hallway.  
  
Directly next to Brian's bedroom door was a portrait of a condemned witch standing next to a tree with a noose, and feeling extremely unnerved, Ronnie took John's hand and pulled him further down the hallway, towards the stairs.  
  
"Do you remember what happened in the dining room tonight?" she asked him in a very low voice.  
  
John raised his eyebrows. "I was never in the dining room."  
  
Ronnie stared at him, feeling fear once more creeping through her veins and inching its way towards her heart.  
  
"Ronnie, are you all right?" John asked quietly.  
  
Ronnie ignored his question and said, very slowly, "You were never in...the dining room?"  
  
John shook his head. "The last thing I remember was telling you that I'd be right behind you. I just woke up on the floor of my room."  
  
Ronnie turned away from him, a hand clamped over her mouth, and leaned over the railing. So if John had been upstairs the entire time, then _who_ had been in the dining room with them? Was this house truly haunted with spirits and is it possible that one of them had taken the form of John?  
  
She didn't think she had ever felt so frightened.  
  
John reached towards her hesitantly, before firmly pushing his shyness away and taking her hand. Ronnie turned back to him and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him.  
  
She realized too late that she was being too familiar with this young version of John, but it was purely from habit. Whenever she was afraid, she always turned to John, and this time was no different.  
  
But she knew it was all right when she felt John hug her in return and rest his chin on the top of her head.  
  
A bang from the staircase made them both jump and Ronnie pushed John away from the railing, so they were flattened against the wall.  
  
They watched as a square of light appeared in the hallway, and Freddie and Roger left Brian's room.  
  
But Roger had stopped and was reaching out his hand into the darkness, gazing at something that only he could see. He then touched his face, looking incredibly disappointed.  
  
"Roger?" Freddie whispered, concerned. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Where did this mirror come from?" Roger asked.  
  
Freddie looked into the darkness, before looking back at Roger in alarm. "Darling, there is absolutely no mirror there." And taking the drummer's hand, he quickly led him away.  
  
\---  
  
Back in Brian's room, Brian and Anita were alone.  
  
Realizing what she had to do, Anita slipped off the bed and crouched in front of Brian. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I think we got off to a rather rough start. Shall we try again?"  
  
Brian looked surprised, but he smiled as he stuck out his hand. "Brian May."  
  
Anita took his hand with a smile of her own. "Anita Dobson."  
  
Brian squeezed her hand gently with both of his. "It really is so nice to meet you, Anita."  
  
Anita felt her heart skip a beat.  
  
"I feel like I know you," Brian said suddenly, tilting his head slightly.  
  
Anita observed the paper balls surrounding them. "Imagine that."  
  
A loud crash startled them both at that moment and turning around, they saw the closet door was open and an acoustic guitar was lying on the floor.  
  
Anita uneasily walked over to it, figuring that the guitar must have fallen from a shelf and knocked the door open. At least that's what she hoped had happened. But as soon as she touched it, countless thoughts of Brian overwhelmed her.  
  
As if in a trance, she found herself hugging the guitar to her chest as she sat on the bed and let memory after memory wash over her.  
  
Brian sat on the bed beside her and watched her carefully. "Anita?"  
  
Anita's eyes snapped open and she quickly handed Brian the guitar. "He was a musician. My...my..."  
  
She found she could not get the words out and silence fell over the room.  
  
"A musician?" Brian asked carefully. "Do I know him?"  
  
_Yes,_ Anita thought to herself. _You know him very well._  
  
"Probably," she evasively.  
  
"It all makes sense now," Brian said softly.  
  
Anita looked up at that. "What does?"  
  
Brian observed the tears in her eyes. "I figured the woman who was stomping on my feet earlier wasn't truly you. Anita, what has he done to you?"  
  
Anita could practically _feel_ the concern radiating from him and she thought about how that was one of the things she had loved most about him. His empathy, his kindness, his compassion for all living things, even for a woman who had tried to break his hand and stepped on his feet and spilled hot tea on him....  
  
"He took everything from me," Anita said quietly and was surprised at how calm she sounded. "I gave him everything - body, heart, and soul - and he threw it all away."  
  
Brian waited patiently for her to go on.  
  
"And I _hate_ him for it," she whispered, before planting a hand firmly over her mouth because she was afraid of what would come out if she removed it. She wasn't sure if it would be sobs or obscenities.  
  
And most importantly, she couldn't let him see her cry. Even though she was an actress, there was no way she could make a bout of ugly crying look pretty.  
  
But then, right on cue, she burst into tears.  
  
Brian gently pulled her between his legs and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Anita resisted at first but quickly gave in, pressing her back against his chest and leaning her head back against his shoulder as she wept, unable to fathom that she was letting the man who hurt her in the first place comfort her.  
  
Apparently, she still needed him, which was infuriating.  
  
"Sshh," Brian whispered, rocking her gently back and forth. "Anita, it's all right. It's _all right_."  
  
Anita cried harder, if that was even possible.  
  
"This man doesn't deserve your tears," Brian whispered in her ear, his chin resting on her shoulder. "He doesn't deserve _you_."  
  
Which is why she had sent Brian away in 1999. And why she was having such a difficult time trusting Brian in 1971. She would probably end up being alone forever. Because she was fifty years old and honestly would rather die than start over and date someone else, but she couldn't say that out loud.  
  
Desperately needing to get her mind off of what was currently happening, she turned her head and reached for the guitar. Brian felt her hot tears running down his arm.  
  
She placed the guitar in her lap, sniffed back the rest of her tears, and sighed.  
  
Brian caught on quickly. "I recently wrote a song..."  
  
The corner of Anita's mouth lifted in what was almost a smile. "Is that why there is paper all over your room?"  
  
Brian managed to laugh. "No, that's...something else."  
  
She was still positioned between his knees and so, he circled his arms around her in order to reach the strings.  
  
"It's not done yet," he continued. "I haven't even shown the boys yet..."  
  
Anita smiled for real this time. "Then I'd be honored."  
  
"It goes something like this..."  
  
And Anita's smile disappeared when she heard the opening chords of '39.  
  
She forced herself to relax, but as she leaned against him and listened to his soothing voice, she couldn't help but think about how she had time traveled to the past and was now listening to Brian sing her a song about time travel.  
  
_For the earth is old and grey, little darling, we'll away_  
_But my love this cannot be_  
_For so many years have gone though I'm older but a year_  
_Your mother's eyes, from your eyes, cry to me  
_  
And forgetting herself completely, she began to sing along with him.  
  
_Don't you hear my call though you're many years away_  
_Don't you hear me calling you_  
  
Brian stiffened. Had he just heard that correctly? He continued to sing, just to be sure.  
  
And sure enough, he heard Anita's beautiful voice still joined with his.  
  
_Write your letters in the sand for the day I take your hand_  
_In the land that our grandchildren knew_  
  
Brian abruptly stopped playing and Anita realized then what she had done.  
  
This song would not be released to the public for another four years. In Brian's mind, there would be no reasonable explanation as to why she would know the words to the song he had just written, and why she was able to sing it exactly in perfect pitch with him.  
  
"For my life, still ahead," Anita whispered. "Pity me."  
  
And then she pushed the guitar away, shrugged herself out of Brian's arms, and slid off the bed. Not bothering to stop for her shoes, she ran through the crumpled paper to the door, threw it open, and disappeared into the darkness of the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Anita ran down hall, knowing she wouldn't be able to go to her room because that would be the first place Brian would look for her.  
  
_Stupid!_ she thought to herself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!_  
  
Yes, the plan had been to make friends with Brian but she hadn't expected to get _that_ close to him. _Damn him_ for always finding a way to look directly into her soul!  
  
But she always had to be so emotional and so, instead of a nice friendly chat, she had cried all over him and allowed him to serenade her with a song! And then she had let her guard down.  
  
She couldn't let it happen again.  
  
Looking over her shoulder, Anita heard footsteps from the far end of the hall and saw a tall shadow moving quickly along the wall. Shoving open the door closest to her, Anita slammed it shut behind her.  
  
And heard the sound of someone retching.  
  
Spinning around, Anita saw that not only was she is an impossibly tiny bathroom that looked positively medieval, but Ronnie was kneeling before the toilet.  
  
Of course she was, Anita thought sadly to herself as she crept closer. The poor thing was pregnant.  
  
Kneeling beside Ronnie, Anita gently pulled her hair back. As she waited for Ronnie to finish vomiting, Anita observed that the toilet was actually a throne, which was very fitting for a house that was hosting the band Queen.  
  
"I hate being sick!" Ronnie exclaimed as she came up for air.  
  
"How far along are you?" Anita asked, hoping to distract her from her current predicament.   
  
Ronnie sniffed back tears. "A month." She paused to think about it, before adding, "Maybe two." And then, looking completely doubtful, she whispered, "I don't really know."  
  
Anita patted her back in what she hoped was a comforting manner.  
  
"All I know is that it's early," Ronnie said, as tears rolled off her nose and into the toilet. "Morning sickness has struck early in all of my pregnancies."  
  
Anita raised her eyebrows. There had been _other_ pregnancies? Ronnie didn't look older than eighteen.  
  
"You have other children?" Anita asked, keeping her tone polite and trying to hide how curious she was.  
  
Ronnie closed her eyes as another wave of nausea swept over her. "Five!"  
  
Anita's mouth dropped open. "You don't look old enough to have five children!"  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened as Anita's words viciously yanked her back to reality and she realized that she had divulged incriminating information. She was supposed to be giving the impression that she was eighteen years old; how could anyone possibly believe that she had five children already at that age?  
  
Leaning her forearms heavily on the toilet seat, Ronnie threw up again.  
  
Anita rubbed her back as she tried to process the important clue Ronnie had just given her. Was it possible that Ronnie was also from the future? It would explain why Ronnie had known who Paul Prenter was, even though Prenter wouldn't appear in their lives for another four years.  
  
It also explained her pregnancy. John wouldn't impregnate Ronnie with her first child until 1974. Considering it was only 1971, perhaps Ronnie had carried _this_ child with her from the future.  
  
"You're not from..._here_, are you?" Anita said gently.  
  
Ronnie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "No."  
  
"Where are you from?" Anita asked carefully, hoping Ronnie would catch her meaning and answer accordingly.  
  
Still leaning over the bowl, Ronnie glanced at Anita. "1993."  
  
Anita smiled as she realized that the child Ronnie was currently pregnant with - and the cause of her current misery - was Cameron Deacon, that sweet, sweet boy.  
  
"Did Freddie send you?" Anita asked.  
  
"Yes," Ronnie said bitterly. "And I wish he'd take me back home but he won't."  
  
"Why?" Anita asked curiously.  
  
Ronnie reached up and pulled on the cord above the toilet. Flushing echoed off the stone walls. She had intended to gracefully take a seat but because her center of gravity was already compromised, Ronnie fell back clumsily onto her arse instead. "Because I'm here to try to save John from himself."  
  
"He's having a tough time dealing with Freddie's death, isn't he?" Anita said softly.  
  
Ronnie sighed. "Yes," she said and her heart ached as she thought of John, sitting all alone on their kitchen floor back in 1993.  
  
A cool breeze blew through the tiny bathroom at the moment, although there was no reasonable source for it. Anita shivered.  
  
"Anita, how did you guess?" Ronnie said suddenly.  
  
Anita smiled humorlessly. "Because Freddie sent me here from 1999."  
  
Ronnie desperately wanted to ask Anita if things were different in 1999, if John was any better. But she was afraid of what the answer would be and decided it would be best if she didn't know.  
  
"Is Freddie forcing you to stay here, too?" Ronnie asked instead.  
  
"No," Anita said simply. "I'm staying willingly, because this is better than my reality."  
  
Ronnie gazed sadly at her. If this terrible house was preferable, then her reality had to be pretty bad.  
  
A creaking noise from the ceiling caused them to look up and see a crooked chandelier hanging by an impossibly thin cord.  
  
"We should go," Ronnie said nervously as she got to her feet. "It's not safe here."  
  
"You go ahead," Anita said. "I'll be just a moment."  
  
At the door, Ronnie turned back. "Perhaps we could catch up later?"  
  
"Absolutely," Anita said with a smile.  
  
But the moment Ronnie had disappeared, Anita allowed the smile to slide off her face.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie followed Roger down the staircase to the first floor.  
  
Roger had volunteered zero information, like why he had just slowly descended the stairs as if he were in a trance, or how he was suddenly able to see effortlessly in the dark while Freddie bumped into walls and objects. Or why they were on the first floor in the first place.  
  
But Roger was hallucinating and his mood had plummeted and Freddie refused to let him go anywhere by himself.  
  
As they passed out of the entryway and into a large, elegant sitting room, Freddie saw a beautiful, white grand piano in the corner. His fingers twitched and he longed to go over to it, to touch the keys and play something, _anything_ to bring a bit of light into this terribly dark house.  
  
But then sound came from the piano and in the dim light, Freddie saw the piano keys moving by themselves. He hurried after Roger to the next room.  
  
The wallpaper was peeling and the entire room smelled of rot, as if something had died in there very recently. Freddie delicately pinched his nose as Roger wandered over to a sewing machine and began to search the drawers of the table it was sitting on.  
  
"Roger darling," Freddie said, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. "What on earth are you looking for?"  
  
Roger said nothing as he continued to dump spools of thread and pin cushions on the ground.  
  
"Darling, if you need a toothbrush, I highly suggest you just skip dental hygiene for tonight," Freddie said sternly.  
  
Roger sighed and turning away, opened the door of the next room. Freddie leaned in the doorway, surrounded by the sounds of rattling china and the clanking of silverware as Roger frantically opened and closed drawers in the butler's pantry.  
  
"I know you were an aspiring dentist but Roger, _one_ night of not brushing isn't going to harm anyone," Freddie said loudly.  
  
Roger stopped in front of a large cabinet with built in mirrors and as he stared at himself, his lower lip began to tremble.  
  
Freddie took Roger by the wrist and yanked him away from the glass and into the next room. They found themselves in a kitchen and as Roger once more resumed his search for whatever it was he was looking for, Freddie watched as a teacup slid across the counter and landed on the floor with a crash.  
  
"I would certainly take a cavity over this madness any day," Freddie said anxiously.  
  
Finally finding what he was looking for, Roger shoved a knife in his pocket when he was sure Freddie was looking the other way.

"No toothbrushes here," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. "Let's go."  
  
"Well, it's about time, darling," Freddie said, clearly unnerved, as he pushed Roger through the doorway and they found themselves back in the dining room. With a firm hand on Roger's back, Freddie ushered him through the room that was now full of so many awkward memories.  
  
They stopped only once, when Roger picked up a spoon to inspect his reflection.  
  
"For fuck's sake," Freddie muttered as he tossed the spoon over his shoulder and forced Roger to keep moving.  
  
The journey into the hall, past the fireplace, and up the stairway was uneventful until Roger fell to his knees on the landing and covered his head.  
  
"Freddie, they're everywhere," he whispered.  
  
Freddie looked around, incredulous. "Roger, _what_ is everywhere?"  
  
"The mirrors," Roger's voice was muffled as he hid his face in his hands. "They're surrounding us."  
  
Seeing only darkness, Freddie knelt beside his friend and said firmly, "Darling, there are _no_ mirrors here."  
  
Roger pressed his hands over his ears. "They're laughing at me."  
  
Seizing Roger by the shoulders, Freddie forced Roger to look up at him. "Mirrors can't laugh, my dear."  
  
"_No_, Freddie, those guys...they're laughing...they think I'm a woman, they..."  
  
"Roger," Freddie warned, as Roger grasped his shirt tightly and shouted, "Make it stop!"  
  
"Roger, darling, I - "  
  
"Freddie, they're _laughing_ at me!"  
  
"No one is laughing, Roger, no one is - "  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Stop!" Freddie shook him. "Stop it this instant, Roger!"  
  
"I should have been a dentist," Roger moaned, as tears filled his eyes. "A fat, ugly dentist, I..."  
  
"Don't say that!" Freddie clung to Roger in alarm, afraid of what would happen if he let go.  
  
"I'm the reason we aren't a success, Freddie," Roger whispered as a tear slipped down his face. "I'm the reason Queen isn't going anywhere."  
  
"Why would you say that?" Freddie asked quietly.  
  
"Because it's true! It's because of the way I look!"  
  
"Now you're just being ridiculous, darling," Freddie said stoutly. "You're behind a drum kit, no one can even _see_ you!"  
  
Roger wrenched himself away from Freddie. "That's why you wanted me to be the drummer!"  
  
"No, darling, _you_ wanted to be a drummer, remember?"  
  
Roger began to drag himself up the stairs, sobbing to himself. "They wouldn't talk to me, they wouldn't come near me, they told me to cut my hair..."  
  
Freddie reached up and pulled Roger back down the few steps he had managed to crawl up.  
  
"I should have cut my hair! _Why_ didn't I cut my hair?"  
  
Freddie pulled Roger into a hug. "Darling, you are a _magnificent_ human being. You are truly a piece of work. The finest of creations!"  
  
"You have to say that, Freddie," Roger cried into his shoulder. "You're just trying to keep me happy because you need a drummer for the band."  
  
"I'm trying to keep you happy because you're the best friend that I ever had," Freddie said, patting his back. "And I don't like to see you like this. It doesn't suit you, Rog."  
  
Roger pulled back suddenly. "It's the house, isn't it? It's this fucking house."

Freddie looked at him meaningfully. "I think it is, darling."

Roger went silent.

"Because, Roger dear, you've slept with how many women?"  
  
Roger frowned. "I lost count."  
  
"And would they have slept with you if you were ugly?"  
  
"They probably felt sorry for me," Roger muttered, the spell of the house once more making him doubt everything.  
  
"It doesn't work that way," Freddie said, trying not to smile.  
  
Roger let out a long, low sigh.  
  
"What I'm saying, darling, is that you are the hottest specimen in this band," Freddie went on. "Ladies seek _you_ out after shows. Do you see anyone seeking Brian out?"  
  
Roger's face slowly broke into a smile.  
  
"Now, how many fucks are we going to give about these boys and their empty words?"  
  
"Zero fucks."  
  
"That's the spirit, darling!" Freddie pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed delicately at Roger's cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He then pulled him to his feet and pushed him up the rest of the stairs.  
  
Freddie didn't let go of Roger until they had arrived at Roger's door. "Darling, I need to take care of some...business, but I need you to promise me you won't leave this room."  
  
"Promise," Roger mumbled, and fell face first onto his bed.  
  
Freddie locked the door from the inside, shut it, and hurried down the hall.  
  
It was time to find Prenter.  
  
\---  
  
Anita sat on the stone floor of the bathroom as she thought about Ronnie, 1993, and how perhaps it was time to call on Freddie to get a one way ticket back to 1999, because she really wasn't making any progress here.  
  
Hearing the sound of the deadbolt sliding back, Anita watched with wide eyes as the door handle turned on its own. She quickly got to her feet as Brian stepped into the tiny bathroom and shut the door behind him.  
  
Anita backed away as he walked towards her, until she felt her back hit the sink.  
  
"There's something you're not telling me," Brian said quietly.  
  
"You wouldn't believe me," Anita said, and was dismayed to find her voice was shaking.  
  
Brian gripped the sides of the sink and leaned her backwards over it. "Try me."  
  
Her chest pressed against his, Anita found herself becoming lost in his intense gaze. Forcing herself to snap out of it, she ducked under his arm and moved away from him.  
  
"How did you know the words to my song?" Brian asked, turning to her.

Anita decided to play dumb to buy herself time. "What song?"  
  
"Anita, tell me the truth," Brian whispered. "Please."

Anita took a step back. "The truth is going to seem like a lie."  
  
"Tell me anyway," Brian said simply.  
  
A noise from above distracted them, and Brian looked up at the ceiling, before swiftly lunging forward and pushing Anita out of the way, to the ground. He fell on top of her just as the chandelier fell to the floor, right where Anita had been standing.  
  
It didn't shatter, but the lights flickered and went out.  
  
Anita let out a breath of fear. That had been entirely too close.  
  
The bright yellow light from the moon shone through the bathroom window and Anita looked up to see that Brian had shielded her with his body. Her heart skipped a beat for the second time that night, and not because she had almost been crushed.  
  
And since he had just saved her life, she figured she owed him the truth, as impossible as it may seem.  
  
Anita said very quietly, "I'm from the future."  
  
She hoped maybe he hadn't heard her.  
  
"You're what?"   
  
"I'm from the future, Brian!" Anita said, louder. "I time traveled. Like in your song!"  
  
Brian stared at her in awe as he shifted his weight off of her.  
  
"That's how I know the words to your song," Anita continued. "Because you don't know it yet, but that song is going to be loved by millions of people."  
  
Brian looked hopeful. "It is?"  
  
"Yes," Anita said softly.  
  
Brian looked extremely thoughtful as leaned over her.  
  
"Do you believe me?" Anita asked doubtfully.  
  
"Yes," Brian replied, completely honest.  
  
"You do?" Anita asked in surprise.  
  
"I have no reason to doubt you."  
  
Anita let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"What year did you come from?" Brian asked curiously.  
  
"1999."  
  
"Did you come to 1971 because your partner betrayed you?" Brian asked sadly.  
  
Anita looked down at the fingers of her right hand, which were suddenly linked with Brian's. When had that happened?  
  
"Yes," she answered, realizing that Brian still didn't know that the partner that had betrayed her was _him_.  
  
"Are you here to stay?" Brian asked and Anita swore she heard a note of longing in his voice.  
  
"I don't know yet," Anita said truthfully.  
  
"Well, I'm glad you're here. And away from _him_."  
  
Anita shifted uncomfortably as he ran his thumb gently over her knuckles. Why did his fingers have to be so ridiculously beautiful?  
  
She allowed him to hold her hand, knowing she didn't yet have it in her to break the news to him that she hadn't escaped from _him_ at all.  
  
\---

When Ronnie left the bathroom and returned to the hallway, John was gone. And though Ronnie looked everywhere, he was nowhere to be found.  
  
She was _so_ worried for his safety. He said he had woken up on his bedroom floor and Ronnie had a strange suspicion that someone had knocked him out on purpose...perhaps to keep him out of the dining room. She had to find him. She couldn't lose this John, not again.   
  
And if _this_ John was missing, it meant that the other John could possibly return and the thought of encountering him again made her push away her fear of the house and venture to the third floor. She would search the entire house if she had to, and then she wouldn't let John out of her sight again. This was her thought as she came to the foot of a narrow, crooked staircase and looked up into the darkness.  
  
Ronnie thought about Anita and felt a little less alone. Knowing that someone else in the house was experiencing exactly what she was going through gave her the courage she needed to climb the steps.  
  
_For John_, she thought to herself.  
  
_For Deaky._  
  
Ronnie searched the halls of the third floor for what seemed like forever and breathless, she slowed down when she realized the hallway she had been running down stopped abruptly in a dead end. Pressing a hand against her chest, she leaned against the wall in front of her, and tried to catch her breath.  
  
John wasn't on the third floor. In fact, there wasn't much of anything on the third floor and she was beginning to doubt her decision to explore it. Did she honestly believe he would be up here?  
  
Ronnie had just decided to go back to the second floor and turning, was shocked to see that there was not an open hallway in front of her anymore. No, instead, there was another wall.  
  
Ronnie pressed her hands against all of the walls surrounding her, as she fought her fear. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no."  
  
She was trapped. No doors, no windows, just walls and only space enough for her to stand.  
  
Ronnie pushed against the walls frantically. She was going to die here, she was sure of it. She would never make it back to 1993 to help John.  
  
She stopped suddenly as that thought struck her. What if she never returned and John thought she had abandoned him? How would that affect him, on top of Freddie's death? The thought was enough for her panic to reach it's peak as she dropped to the floor and began searching for trap doors that weren't there.  
  
Very suddenly, a soft glow descended upon her. Looking up, Ronnie saw a rickety, wooden ladder affixed to the wall (_had that been there before?_ she thought to herself). The ladder led up to a room directly above her and that was the source of the soft, white light.  
  
The light made her think about Spirit Freddie and she felt the fear in her chest begin to disappear. And the white light beckoned to her, promising her the happiness that she desperately wanted, and so, she began to climb the ladder.  
  
Ronnie felt very determined as she continued to climb, almost in a trance, her only immediate thought that she needed to reach the light. But once she reached the top and planted her palms firmly against wooden floorboards, the rung she was standing on broke, and the ladder fell away from under her. Ronnie felt herself drop, catching the edge of the floor right in time as she swung dangerously through empty air.  
  
She let out a cry of outrage. She should have known! She should have known it was nothing but an illusion.  
  
Tentatively, Ronnie looked over her shoulder to see how far down the drop was, thinking perhaps she could fall and land on her feet but...  
  
Not only was it a long way down, but there was a figure standing below her. Ronnie squinted and saw that it was John.  
  
Relieved, she was about to put her trust in him and let go, when she noticed he was wearing a black shirt and that his expression was sad, so very sad, and...  
  
It was the _other_ John. The John from the dining room. He was directly beneath her, holding his arms out and gazing up at her.  
  
Letting out a small sob of fear, Ronnie turned away from him and held on to the edge as tightly as she could. She wouldn't fall, she refused to fall. She didn't know who or what he was; she just knew he wasn't _her_ John and she couldn't allow him to touch her. Because then the feeling of despair would return.  
  
Maybe he'd go away, Ronnie thought hopefully. Glancing down again, she saw he was still there, still holding his arms out to her. Ronnie sighed in disgust and looked back up at the white light, which was slowly fading. Her fingers were so sore.  
  
And then, very slowly, invisible fingers began to pry her own fingers off of the edge of the floorboards.  
  
"No," Ronnie whispered as she desperately tried to hang on, but the mysterious force succeeded in tearing her left hand away and she found herself hanging on only by her right hand.  
  
Terrified, Ronnie tried to swing her left arm back up, but found she was unable to move it because it was pinned to her side. She watched helplessly as one by one, each of the fingers of her right hand were yanked away from the edge she was clinging to, and then she felt herself falling.  
  
She fell through the air, her heart in her throat, and landed heavily in John's arms. The moment he caught her, she felt the depressed feeling spread through her chest, down into her stomach, and up into her throat. The sadness was so overwhelming it was practically crippling her.  
  
She fought him, pressing her hands against his chest and kicking her legs, desperate to be free, but he would not let go.  
  
Her attempts to break free dragged them both to the ground, and the mix of fear and despair she was experiencing was so intense that she found it turning into rage.  
  
Knocking John over, Ronnie straddled him and grabbing his wrists roughly, pinned them to the ground on either side of his head.  
  
"Who are you?" she hissed.  
  
John looked up at her, shocked. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.  
  
Gripping his shirt and pressing him against the ground, Ronnie yelled, "_Say_ something!"  
  
Once more, John didn't answer, but stared up at her with those sad eyes and an expression of pure heartache. His trembling lower lip caught Ronnie's attention and she noticed his split lip.  
  
The cut was red, and deep, and angry. For a moment, Ronnie forgot about her fear as she slowly reached out and gently ran her thumb over it, allowing herself to be shocked that she had actually done that to someone. To someone who looked exactly like her husband.  
  
Her touch gave John the courage to sit up and, balancing Ronnie on his lap, he touched her face, hoping he could communicate with her that way, since he couldn't get any words out. His intent had been to make things better, but it actually made things worse.  
  
Because as he touched her, a single tear fell from her eye and ran over John's thumb. The sadness she was feeling intensified and she felt something she was sure she'd never felt before: hopeless. Sort of like..._what was the point?_  
  
Unable to handle the heavy feeling in her chest anymore, Ronnie climbed off of John and ran down the hall (which had miraculously returned) and instantly, the deep sorrow lessened, though it didn't go away this time.  
  
John let her go.  
  
Turning, he watched her run away from him. A tear slid down his own cheek and he silently cursed Prenter for promising him that he'd encounter Ronnie alone, and then taking away his ability to speak to her when he so desperately needed to tell her who he was.  
  
He twisted the wedding band off his left ring finger and stared at it as he thought of Ronnie's words.  
  
_I don't want to have this child with you._

Is that why she refused to speak to him? Was she still angry about their fight in the kitchen? But there was no way she could know he was here, that Freddie had made it possible for him to follow her...

_This child deserves so much more than a father who doesn't love himself enough to keep fighting._  
  
Doubt filled John's heart. Unless she did know and was being true to her words. She didn't want to see him like this. She wouldn't want to see him until he changed, until he fought for himself and for her.  
  
_And if you won't fight for our family...if you won't fight for me...then I'm not going to sit around and watch you slowly _die!  
  
Closing his fingers around the ring, John hid his face in his hands.  
  
If only she knew how hard he was fighting now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank you for continuing to read, and thank you for your comments!


	6. Chapter 6

Ronnie did not stop running until she reached the first floor and securely locked herself in the first room she stumbled upon. As she fell to her knees and tried to catch her breath, she saw her chosen place of refuge was a library.  
  
The room was dark and the only way she was able to discern that she was surrounded by thousands upon thousands of books was from the light of the big, round yellow moon that she could see clearly through the windows on the far wall.  
  
She thought about her encounter with John upstairs and wondered, not for the first time, _who_ or _what_ he really was, and why he was following her. And she felt alarmed because for the first time, she had felt something other than fear while close to him.  
  
As she had sat on his belly and gripped his wrists tightly and looked deeply into his eyes, she had actually _pitied_ him. Even though this strange creature, who looked so much like her husband and sounded exactly like him, filled her with so much dread, he hadn't actually hurt her. In fact, twice he had tried to save her, first from stepping on broken glass in the dining room and most recently, catching her when she fell from the high ledge.  
  
But Ronnie couldn't ignore the fact that when she had left this otherwordly being behind in the dining room, the despair had melted from her heart. And even though she was free of him once more, this time, the sorrow lingered. And she felt sure that if she encountered him again, it would grow worse.  
  
The wind rattled the window panes of the library and a sharp howl rang through the night air outside. A shadow ran past the window and though she knew she should run the other way, Ronnie got to her feet and curiously made her way over to the window. She swore she heard soft music in the room with her.  
  
_Ronnie_, a voice whispered from somewhere.  
  
Trembling, Ronnie pressed her hands against the window panes. The rain had stopped briefly and as she pressed her nose against the glass, she watched as a white light bobbed through the trees, and shuddered.  
  
The music grew louder and once more, a voice whispered her name.  
  
Frowning, Ronnie tore her gaze away from the window. She knew that song. She knew it well, because John had written it...or rather, he _would_ write it, in 1976. But what she was hearing now wasn't upbeat. It was slow and haunting...  
  
_Music is playing in the darkness_  
_And a lantern goes swinging by_  
_Shadows flickering, my heart's jittering_  
_Just you and I_

Ronnie's heart sunk. So far, the lyrics were accurate, except for the fact that she was alone.  
  
Or was she?  
  
Slow footsteps creaked on the floorboards as someone approached and Ronnie closed her eyes, willing herself to find some kind of composure. Of course she wasn't alone, was she _ever_ really alone in this house?  
  
As Ronnie finally felt a presence, she opened her eyes and looked up to see John standing before her. Her first thought was that it was frightening John, because he was still and silent, but he was wearing a navy button-down shirt and though the entire situation was incredibly weird, Ronnie didn't feel afraid. It was the John she had been searching the entire third floor for.  
  
John held out both hands to her and as Ronnie placed her hands in his, the lamps in the library slowly came to life and lit the room with a very soft glow. A mischievous smile danced on his lips as he led her into the center of the room and the tempo of the music quickened to it's normal pace, the way it _should_ be.  
  
Any trace of shyness on John's part had vanished completely. He watched her carefully as he let go of one of her hands in order to circle an arm around her waist and pull her very, _very_ close to him. Slowly, he began to sway her gently from side to side.  
  
Ronnie had to remind herself to breathe because this exact moment reminded her that there had been a time when John had overcome his shyness and swept her off her feet. It reminded her that there had been a time when they could dance like this without anything weighing them down.  
  
Trying not to think _too_ much, Ronnie glanced around the room as she felt John's eyes on her. She took in the cobwebs stretched lazily across books, and the low flames of a fire in the hearth (surely that hadn't been there before?) and a couple of empty bottles of vodka on a highly polished end table...  
  
As soon as she spotted the bottles, the lights in the room began to dim once more, and a low, light laugh echoed off the walls.  
  
Ronnie met John's eyes once more. And though the ghost of a smile rested on his lips, he hadn't been the one who had laughed. She leaned her head closer to his and caught the unmistakable scent of alcohol.  
  
"John, are you drunk?" Ronnie whispered. It would certainly explain his lack of shyness.

John said nothing. The corner of his mouth lifted, widening his smile ever so slightly, as he spun her in a gentle circle.  
  
_Laughter ringing in the darkness_  
_People **drinking** for days gone by_  
_Time don't mean a thing_  
_When you're by my side_  
_Please stay a while_  
  
Trying to fight her disappointment, Ronnie leaned her forehead against John's shoulder and sniffed back tears. It was like some sickening twist, seeing sweet, young John before her, yet already plagued by a beverage that would haunt him in his later years.  
  
_You know I never could foresee the future years_  
_You know I never could see where life was leading me_  
  
Had she already failed? She had come here to save him, but here he was, drunk. Ronnie desperately hoped it was the house that had led him to drink.  
  
John stopped swaying at that moment and with a gentle finger under her chin, lifted her face. Completely against her will, Ronnie's eyes remained locked with his.  
  
_But will we be together for ever_  
_What will be my love, can't you see that I just don't know_  
  
"What happened to you, John?" Ronnie asked quietly, searching his eyes and struggling against the effect he was having on her.  
  
John shook his head, and lowered her to the ground.

_Don't care_  
  
"John?" Ronnie said nervously, as the lights went out and the music slowed down once more.

_Ooh, I can hear the music in the darkness_  
_Floating softly to where we lie_  
_No more questions now_  
_Let's enjoy tonight  
_  
Although there was a warning deep in her heart, Ronnie felt herself surrendering to the moment, because there was a time just like this when she had been so happy with John.  
  
And that was her deepest desire, wasn't it? Happiness.  
  
Perhaps she could be happy again, even just for this one moment...  
  
"John, what's happening to me?" Ronnie asked softly, as she felt herself being gently pushed onto her back.  
  
"No more questions," John whispered. "Just you and I."  
  
They were both completely unaware of a small crawl space door in the wall, which was open just a crack.  
  
Prenter was smiling in satisfaction. _All is going according to plan_, he thought to himself, _and in the next few minutes, everyone will succumb to their deepest desires. And it will destroy them all._

But next to him, John - future John - was not smiling.  
  
After Ronnie had left him upstairs, a mysterious door had appeared in the wall beside him, small enough where he had to crawl on his hands and knees in order to get through it. He immediately found himself on a small, claustrophobic staircase, which had led to this confined space next to the library and to a sight that he wished he wasn't seeing.  
  
Now, he moved to push the door open, but a force pinned him against the wall.  
  
"And what do you think you're doing, John?" Prenter asked smoothly.  
  
"Don't," John whispered. "Don't make me sit here and watch her fall in love with him."  
  
"With him?" Prenter raised an eyebrow. "She's falling in love with _you_."  
  
"That's not _me_ anymore," John said tightly.  
  
"You want this to stop?" Prenter said. "Very well. I'll make it stop under one condition."  
  
John stared straight ahead, where the younger version of himself was leaning over Ronnie. He felt Prenter press something into his hand and looking down, he saw a small vial of black liquid.  
  
"Give this to your younger self," Prenter instructed. "And take her for yourself."  
  
"What is it?" John asked anxiously. Whatever it was, it did not look inviting.  
  
"That's not important."  
  
"What will it do to him?"  
  
"No more questions," Prenter said sharply. "Prove to me you can do it and she is yours. Prove to me you cannot, and you can sit there and watch him give her something that you clearly can't."  
  
John blinked back furious tears. Prenter was trying to turn him into a monster.  
  
"Give in to your deepest desire, John," Prenter whispered into his ear, as the younger John pressed his forehead against Ronnie's.  
  
John took in a shuddering breath, realizing he didn't have long to decide.

\---  
  
Back in the medieval bathroom, Anita leaned her stomach against the stone wall and rested her elbows on the window ledge, as Brian stood directly behind her and pointed out the various stars in the night sky and told her what their names were.  
  
His arms were circled around her, his hands resting gently over hers on the ledge, as he every so often lifted her right hand with his to point her finger at something interesting. Anita was perfectly content, until the moment brought to life an entirely different memory.  
  
Her first official date with Brian had been eerily similar to this. There they had sat, in a restaurant, and he had pointed out all the stars and their names, just like he was doing now, and people had stared at them, and she couldn't have cared less because she was falling in love with him at that very moment.  
  
This moment was _too_ similar. And the white light that was now floating out in the darkness, where presumably there was a forest, was extremely unnerving.  
  
"Anita," Brian said quietly. "Am I somehow involved in your future?"  
  
She didn't yet have the heart to tell him the truth, so she turned her head and quickly pressed her lips against his. And he responded.  
  
But slowly, a ball of rage began to form in her stomach because this had been her one and only desire, to be in love and share moments like this with her soulmate, and it had been that way for awhile before Brian had ruined it, before he had completely and thoroughly shattered everything, and here she was, falling in love with him all over again...  
  
It was sort of like history repeating itself. She was starring in her own prequel and who was to say that the same thing wouldn't happen again?  
  
The rage slowly made it's way up to her chest and squeezed her heart. Once more, she was filled with a terrible urge to hurt Brian, to use him like he had used her, to break his heart.  
  
That had been the original plan, hadn't it?  
  
_Do it_, a voice whispered in her ear.  
  
Twisting her fingers in Brian's shirt, she dragged him to the ground and deepened the kiss as she straddled him and pressed him back against the wall. She ran her fingers through his curly hair and felt him pull her close and she urgently pulled his shirt over his head, threw it over her shoulder, and placed her palms against his chest.  
  
As she felt his bare skin, she stopped suddenly and pulled away. His soft skin was so familiar to her, for years and years she had run her fingers over it, and she found herself pressing her palm against his heart. She felt it beating wildly.  
  
_You don't have to do this_, she said to herself. _You don't need to inflict hurt on others just because you've been hurt._  
  
And Brian was looking at her so openly, so honestly, so hopefully, so truly, that she felt perhaps she didn't really want to hurt him after all. At this point in time, he was so young, and so innocent, and so oblivious to what he had done to her in 1999...  
  
_Do it_, the voice whispered in her ear again and she winced.  
  
She didn't know _what_ to do.  
  
\---  
  
Roger held the knife up to his eyes and inspected his reflection.  
  
Freddie was a good mate, the best of mates really, but Roger did not appreciate being spoon fed lies on the landing of the staircase. He was not a masterpiece, he was not a hot specimen, he was not good looking, he was not _any_ of those things!  
  
Climbing onto the bureau, Roger once more sat in front of the mirror. He was going to end this madness now, he was going to do what he should have done years ago.  
  
It was the only way to make the voices go away. To make the laughter go away. To make the mirrors and the self-doubt go away.  
  
He held the knife up.  
  
_Yes_, a voice encouraged him.  
  
\---  
  
By the time that Freddie actually found Prenter - which was truly a miracle, considering how big the house was - he was thoroughly pissed off.  
  
Because honestly, how dare Prenter just be lounging in the study, in a maroon bathrobe, a glass of champagne in his hand. The nerve, Freddie thought darkly. It should have been him!  
  
When Freddie burst through the door, Prenter lifted his glass, as if in salute.  
  
"Ah, Freddie," he said lightly. "It's about time."  
  
Freddie stormed over to the gold chaise lounge and snatched the glass out of Prenter's hand. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, he pulled Prenter close.  
  
"Whatever you are doing to Roger," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "you better stop it. _Now_."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Prenter said innocently.  
  
"Like hell you don't!" Freddie growled. "Now, release Roger from whatever spell you have him under."  
  
"Oh, it's no spell," Prenter assured Freddie. "It's coming entirely from his own mind."  
  
"You're a terrible liar, darling," Freddie spat, before releasing Prenter and allowing him to fall roughly against the cushions. But not roughly enough, in Freddie's opinion.  
  
"And you're in denial," Prenter replied. "You must know how unstable he is, Freddie. He's clearly proving it to you, and to himself tonight."  
  
"You're fucking with us all," Freddie hissed. "I know you are! I know that - " Freddie stopped suddenly and sniffed at the wine glass he was still holding.  
  
The corner of Prenter's mouth lifted in a smile.  
  
"Louis Roederer Cristal champagne," Freddie observed.  
  
"Your favorite," Prenter pointed out.  
  
"You have absolutely no business knowing that!" Freddie retorted. "Or knowing any of the other things you just happen to know!"  
  
Prenter patted the seat next to him. "Sit down, Freddie. Have a drink. And we'll discuss what's best for our friend, Roger."  
  
Freddie inspected the drink. It looked all right and it smelled _divine_. What was the harm? Since they were going through their own personal night of hell, the least Prenter could do was give him a drink.  
  
Freddie sipped the champagne, but did not sit down.  
  
"You see, I'm glad you're here, Freddie," Prenter said softly. "What I really want to talk about is you."  
  
"My favorite subject, I assure you," Freddie said, taking a deeper drink.  
  
"You're lonely, aren't you?"  
  
Freddie glared at Prenter over the rim of his glass. "No."  
  
"You are," Prenter argued. "You're terribly lonely. And I can change that."  
  
"I don't need you," Freddie said, though he had already drained his glass of champagne. "I don't need anybody."  
  
Prenter stood and refilled his glass, before reaching out and touching Freddie's face. "Poor Freddie," he whispered. "You really just want somebody to love, don't you?"  
  
Feeling very strange, Freddie wrenched himself away from Prenter's touch and retreated to the window. He stubbornly sipped his drink, stared out into the darkness, and observed a curious light glowing in the woods.  
  
"Come now, Freddie," Prenter said softly. "You don't really want to spend the rest of your life shagging strangers in dirty bathroom stalls."

A tear rolled down Freddie's cheek and landed in his champagne. He tried to tell himself he had no choice; Prenter had been inconsiderate enough to not salt the rim of the glass, so _of course_ he had to add a salty tear...  
  
"No one could love you like I could," Prenter whispered.  
  
Freddie suddenly felt a strange, terrible longing bubbling up in his stomach.  
  
"I don't need you," Freddie said again. "I am loved."  
  
"Of course you are, Freddie," Prenter said soothingly, as he took Freddie's hand and pulled him away from the window. "But I can give you real love. True, unconditional love."  
  
"This is villainy," Freddie muttered as Prenter sat him firmly on the chaise lounge, but he didn't resist.  
  
"Isn't that what you want?" Prenter asked.  
  
Freddie blinked. Why had he come to see Prenter again? For the life of him, he couldn't remember.  
  
\---  
  
In the darkness of the library crawl space, Prenter grinned. The younger version of himself (the version his guests had been seeing all night) was wreaking havoc on Freddie's heart in the study and he wasn't the only one who would soon be satisfied. Everyone was about to give into their personal desires. Everyone was about to do something they would likely regret. Closing his eyes, he conjured an image of each guest in turn to witness their struggle, using his mind as his own personal crystal ball.  
  
**The Study**  
  
"I'll love you forever, Freddie," Prenter said as he touched Freddie's face again. "You'll see."  
  
And though warning bells were sounding in Freddie's head, the prospect of being loved and not having to pretend anymore was enough for him to silence any other thoughts and lean into Prenter's touch.  
  
"That's it," Prenter whispered. "Forever, Freddie."  
  
If he was being honest with himself, Freddie was sick of being the great pretender, and so he leaned closer, and closer.  
  
Prenter brushed his lips against Freddie's. "You'll never even have to tell your parents."  
  
**Roger's Room  
**  
Roger was still sitting with the knife on the bureau, though he had become momentarily distracted by the white light outside of his window. Shaking his head, he turned back to the mirror.  
  
Grabbing a fistful of hair, Roger held the knife to his blonde locks and held his breath.  
  
Goodbye Rogerina. Hello Roger.  
  
**The Medieval Bathroom  
**  
"Anita," Brian said softly. "We don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to."  
  
Though he really wanted to exclaim, _Let me love you, Anita! _Because perhaps it was something he could finally succeed at. And besides, he was certain she was the only one who could extinguish the terrible fire burning in his belly.  
  
As Anita hesitated, a sharp pain pierced her heart as she thought that this Brian really wasn't so innocent after all, was he? No, he hadn't done anything to her yet, but he _would_. Oh, he would. The capacity to harm was already growing inside of him.  
  
"I want to," she said firmly, as she pulled her own shirt off, rocked her pelvis against his, and kissed him deadly.

**The Library**

Ronnie put her hands over her ears. Although this was the John she wasn't afraid of, something was wrong, terribly wrong, and instinct told her to block out the music.  
  
But John gently tugged her hands away and linked their fingers. As John's sweet composition surrounded her, she felt doubt slowly melting away and she opened her eyes and relaxed.  
  
What she didn't see was future John, crouching behind an armchair, the vial of black liquid clenched tightly in his fist as tears burned his eyes and he thought about how far he was willing to go for her.  
  
The answer was obvious. He'd go all the way for her.  
  
And so, he shoved the vial into his pocket, lowered himself to the floor, and crept up behind his younger self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Will they or won't they? Happy Halloween everyone! 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to follow with me - would love to know your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

The spell that Prenter had cast over the entire house was abruptly broken when a white glow filled the crawl space, blinding him, and he felt someone roughly grabbing his ear.  
  
"Hello _darling_," a menacing voice drawled.  
  
"Freddie!" Prenter squirmed uncomfortably as he squinted through the light.  
  
"What the fuck is this, my dear?" Spirit Freddie asked. "You stage a giant orgy and I'm not invited?"  
  
"I have nothing to do with what's happening in this house right now," Prenter said, as the glow faded and Freddie's displeased face came into view. "I'm merely supervising."  
  
"Like hell you are!" Freddie said angrily, twisting Prenter's ear viciously. "You seem to have forgotten our agreement. You promised to give my friends a safe place away from the distractions of every day life, a place where they could interact with one another and sort out their feelings. Not a bloody haunted house!"  
  
It was true. Freddie had foolishly put his trust in Prenter once more, after rekindling a strange sort of friendship with him in the afterlife.  
  
As Freddie had watched his friends' distress on earth, he had desperately wished he could help them and Prenter, who had died from AIDS a few months before Freddie, had suggested they learn the art of turning back time.   
  
And instead, from behind the scenes, Prenter had been using his younger self as a tool and mind fucking each and every one of them.

"And you promised you wouldn't interfere," Prenter snapped, pushing Freddie away and rubbing his throbbing ear.  
  
"As usual, only hearing what you wish to hear," Freddie observed, reaching forward and flicking Prenter's other ear, the one he wasn't currently massaging. "I _promised_ that I wouldn't interfere in _their_ affairs."

"So don't! It's really none of your business, Freddie."  
  
"They're _my_ friends so it is officially my business now, Paul _darling_."  
  
Prenter shrugged. "There's really no harm in it. Death has taken away your sense of fun, Freddie."  
  
"Oh, I assure you, I'm still fun, darling."  
  
"Then come," Prenter patted the space next to him. "Watch with me, Freddie. It's quite entertaining."  
  
Freddie slowly shook his head. "You have failed," he said softly. "Just like you failed me in real life."  
  
Prenter's face turned red. "I didn't get a happy ending in real life," he hissed. "So why should they? They should all suffer, too - it's the human thing to do!"

"Spoken like a true villain," Freddie retorted. "Unlike you, they actually _deserve_ a happy ending, dear."  
  
"Say what you want," Prenter said in a low, angry voice. "You can't stop me now."  
  
Freddie snorted. "Because you're having such a good time? You're having a ball? You snake! I should have you thrown into hell for copyright violations."  
  
Prenter rolled his eyes.  
  
"This _will_ end tonight," Freddie said coldly, "because I'm sending Anita and Ronnie back to their time and we are going to erase this entire trip from history."  
  
"I'm afraid we won't be doing any such thing," Prenter said with a dark smile.  
  
"And why not?" Freddie demanded.  
  
"I don't think it's any secret that I'm more powerful than you," Prenter said smoothly.  
  
"Because you dabble in dark magic!"   
  
"I've blocked off the portal to the future," Prenter said simply. "They'll be stuck here. Forever."  
  
Freddie was about to open his mouth to demand that the portal be unblocked this instant - a statement that would be accompanied by the vast variety of obscenities he had in mind - when Anita's voice suddenly echoed through his mind.  
  
_"Freddie!"_  
  
She was calling him, and she was in pain.  
  
Scowling at Prenter, he said furiously, "This isn't over." And then he vanished.  
  
As soon as Freddie was gone, Prenter's evil grin disappeared. It's not that he wasn't confident in his abilities - oh no, it wasn't that at all.   
  
Rather, he sensed that Spirit Freddie's presence was going to make things very complicated, indeed.  
  
\---  
  
Anita pulled back unexpectedly, her fingers still entwined in Brian's curls.  
  
The rage that had filled her heart had inexplicably disappeared and she was left feeling exhausted, as if she had just woken from a trance in which she was not herself.  
  
Self consciously pulling up her bra strap and putting it back where it belonged, Anita said very softly, "I'm sorry, Brian. But we can't do this."  
  
Brian pulled his fingers away from her bare waist and looked away.   
  
He was hurt. And why wouldn't he be? She had coaxed him out of his intellectual shell of reason, she had exposed him, encouraged him to be vulnerable. And then she had rejected him.  
  
She hadn't _wanted_ to reject him. But the moment she was released from her angry fit, she realized that she was better than this. Yes, she was still irate and devastated, but traveling to the past to make viscous love to Brian's younger self had not been the plan. She would only be hurting herself, when in fact she had finally acknowledged that she needed this Brian to help her heal.  
  
Anita carefully removed herself from Brian's lap and tossed his shirt to him. She waited until they were both fully clothed before saying, "Earlier, you asked me if you were part of my future."  
  
Brian tilted his head and stared at her, his eyes questioning.  
  
Anita took a deep breath. "Well, you are."  
  
Brian said nothing. He waited uneasily for her to go on, fearing that his involvement in her future hadn't been pleasant.  
  
"We will meet in 1986 and spend thirteen wonderful years together," Anita explained. "Somehow, you will become the love of my life."  
  
She watched as realization slowly dawned on Brian and he slowly shook his head.  
  
"_You_ are my partner, Brian," Anita said firmly. "_You_ are the person I ran away from. _You_ are the reason I came here."  
  
"I'm the one who betrayed you?" Brian whispered.  
  
Anita nodded slowly.  
  
Brian covered his eyes with one hand. His worst fear had come true.  
  
Though Queen hadn't found success yet and he had not obtained his PhD, it didn't necessarily mean that he had failed. Not yet, at least. But now he knew he eventually _would_ fail and perhaps at one of the most important jobs he could possibly have.   
  
It had only been a few hours, but he was already falling in love with the beautiful woman sitting in front of him; he should have been elated to know she'd one day be his.   
But he'd fail her by having an affair. It was almost the worst kind of failure because it was a failure that would be a hundred percent his fault. He almost couldn't bear the crippling disappointment he was feeling and he was sure he was about to be sick.  
  
One day, he would turn into the monster he always feared he'd become. He blinked furiously at the tears in his eyes.  
  
"Brian," Anita whispered, touching his arm.  
  
Brian's head snapped up suddenly, and Anita was surprised at the fire she saw in his eyes. "Why did you come here?" he asked in a low voice.  
  
The intensity of Brian's gaze was unnerving and she found herself slowly inching away from him.  
  
"A friend thought perhaps we could start over and make sure the affair never happened," Anita said, finding she couldn't look at him. "It was to ensure that we would live happily ever after. But I was so angry with you that I...that I..."  
  
"Yes?" Brian encouraged her quietly.  
  
Anita finally looked up and said honestly, "I decided to come here to break your heart instead, Brian."  
  
Brian's eyes widened in shock, before his mouth twisted in anguish. "But_ why?"_

"Because I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me," Anita said in a small voice.

"Shouldn't you have stayed in your own time then?" Brian said icily. "Then, at least you could hurt the Brian that hurt you. I have done _nothing _to you."

"Do you think I haven't already realized that?" Anita hissed.  
  
"You said you came here to break my heart," Brian whispered bitterly. "But let me tell you this, Anita. I can break my own heart worse than you _ever_ could."  
  
Anita stared at Brian, thinking spitefully to herself how Brian had to go and be perfect at everything, even breaking hearts.  
  
"In fact, I already have," Brian continued, his voice shaking.   
  
And it was the truth. Ever since he had walked out of his professor's office that one day months ago, he had been slowly and methodically breaking his own heart as he doubted his choices, his abilities, and _himself_. And now, from 1999, he had just succeeded in breaking that heart in half, by destroying the woman of his dreams.  
  
In her thirteen years with Brian, Anita had only seen him cry a few times, in 1991, after he had lost both his father and Freddie in the same year. And so, it was extremely difficult to watch Brian now, looking so incredibly lost and so very young in his striped purple shirt, clearly fighting back tears and trying to hang on to his self composure.   
  
"But I can tell you what you can do for me, Anita," Brian said darkly, getting to his knees and crawling towards her.  
  
Anita nervously pressed herself back against the wall.  
  
"You can reach into my chest and rip the heart out of me, if you'd like," he said, as he took her hand and dug her fingernails into his shirt, right over his heart. "You're already halfway there."  
  
A tear rolled down Anita's face as she glared at him.  
  
"Because I don't want to have a heart anymore," Brian whispered. "Not if it's going to be this painful." And with that, he released her, jumped to his feet, and swiftly left the bathroom.  
  
Anita stared after him in horror, before scrambling to her feet and gripping the sides of the bathroom sink in order to support herself. She pressed her lips firmly together and squeezed her eyes shut as she willed herself not to cry.   
  
_You can throw up if you'd like, Anita_, she told herself. _But don't shed any more tears for him._

And twisting her hands in her hair, she shrieked, _"Freddie!"  
  
_The lights in the broken chandelier on the ground flickered slightly and Freddie appeared behind her. "You rang, darling?"   
  
Outraged, Anita spun around. "He does _not _get to retaliate!"  
  
Freddie scratched his head. "Who, dear? Brian?"  
  
"Yes, _Brian!" _Anita fumed. "This is supposed to be _my_ form of therapy, Freddie! He does not get to act like he's more hurt than I am!"  
  
Freddie sighed. "Things aren't going well, I presume?"  
  
Anita began to pace around the small bathroom. As Freddie observed her, a smile slowly spread across his face.  
  
"Anita, darling! I think you've forgotten something."  
  
Anita followed his gaze and looking down, she hastily buttoned her jeans back up.  
  
"You can stop smiling right now," she said in a voice that was strained with tears. "Because nothing happened."  
  
"Oh?" Freddie asked with polite interest.  
  
"I've ruined everything, Freddie! I told him I was from the future, I told him what he did. I told him how much I wanted to hurt him."  
  
Freddie stared at her, before running a hand down his face. "Oh dear," he muttered. "That certainly complicates things."  
  
Anita wiped furiously at her eyes. "How so?"  
  
"I'm afraid we've broken one of the two most important rules of time travel, my dear."  
  
Anita's mouth dropped open. "Freddie, why didn't you tell me I couldn't tell him who I was?"  
  
"I figured it would be obvious, darling!"  
  
Anita crossed her arms. "Well, you might as well tell me the second rule now, so I don't screw that up, too!"  
  
"Oh, you won't," Freddie assured her. "Rule number two is not to let your past self and your future self meet face to face. Your past self is nowhere near here."  
  
"I don't want to do this anymore," Anita said wearily. "Send me back to 1999, Freddie. Please. I've done nothing but waste your time."  
  
"Oh, believe me, darling," Freddie said with a grin. "I have all the time in the _world_. Don't worry about me, dear. But..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well, you see, my dear," Freddie said carefully. "I can't send you back quite yet. We're having a few technical difficulties."  
  
"Technical _difficulties_?"  
  
"But I'll send you back as soon as I can," Freddie promised.  
  
Anita covered her face with her hands.  
  
Freddie gently pulled her hands away and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Don't cry yet, girl," he said softly. "You've got a long way to go."  
  
Anita stared at him, eyes wide, as it sunk in that he had just purposefully quoted Angie Watts, the alcoholic landlady she had once played on the the soap opera _EastEnders. _Angie had said the same exact words to herself in a mirror, while drinking herself stupid and spinning lies to bring her unfaithful husband back to her.  
  
"I should have told you about the rules," Freddie added. "And I apologize from the bottom of my very dead heart."  
  
Anita's expression softened. "I don't think a heart as big as yours could ever die," she said, pressing her hand against his chest.  
  
Freddie looked genuinely touched, but then Ronnie's terrified voice rang through his mind, calling his name, and he quickly patted Anita's hand.

"I'll make this right for you, darling."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
\---  
  
Young Freddie stormed down the hallway, muttering angrily to himself as he tried to remember what exactly had occurred during his visit to Prenter. The only thing he remembered was coming back to his senses and finding Prenter's fingers linked with his.  
  
So Freddie had promptly poured his glass of champagne in Prenter's lap - a terrible waste, but would could you do? - and made a dramatic exit. Because nobody takes advantage of Freddie Mercury.  
  
But now his most important mission was to check on Roger and when he finally arrived at his door, he knocked loudly, only to be rewarded with absolutely no answer.  
  
"Roger?" Freddie shouted. "I've returned! Open the damn door!"  
  
Again, no answer.   
  
Freddie turned to find something to break down the door with and collided with Brian.  
  
"Excuse me, Freddie," Brian said quickly as he prepared to rush away, but Freddie had gripped his arms, preventing his escape.  
  
"Thank _God_," Freddie said with a dramatic sigh of relief. "Brian, Roger is locked in his room and he won't answer the door - you know what a stubborn darling he can be - and honestly, I'm so afraid for him and we need to find some way in, any way in at all, because I know he can't face this alone, Brian, and perhaps..."  
  
Freddie trailed off suddenly as he took in Brian's miserable expression. Reaching up, he touched a tear that had formed in the corner of Brian's eye. Not for the first time that night, Freddie sighed, dug the handkerchief out of his pocket, and dabbed at his friend's eyes.   
  
"Just a case of epiphora," Brian said dismissively, before turning and fiercely shaking the doorknob to Roger's room.  
  
When that provided no results (_just another thing to fail at_, Brian thought to himself), he hit the door with his open palm and roared, "Roger!"  
  
When there was once again no answer, Brian took a step back and gave the door a mighty kick.  
  
The door popped open effortlessly and Freddie rushed inside.  
  
"Darling?" he said, as he saw Roger sitting on top of the bureau, his forehead resting against the glass. "Oh, Roger darling, why didn't you answer the door?"  
  
Roger jumped slightly and looked wildly over his shoulder. "Because I don't trust _any_ of you!"  
  
"Stop shouting!" Brian hissed, as he over strode over to Roger and wrapping his arms around him from behind, dragged him off the bureau.  
  
Immediately, the fight left Roger and as he went limp in Brian's arms, the knife fell out of his hand and onto the floor.  
  
With a gasp, Freddie grabbed it and shook it in front of Roger's face. "Wherever did you get this, darling? And what were you planning on doing with it?"  
  
"I was going to cut my hair!"  
  
"Roger, we talked about this!" Freddie said sternly.   
  
"Yes, well," Roger said dismissively.  
  
"I knew I should have brought you with me," Freddie fumed. "That you'd do something impulsive if I left you by yourself and - "  
  
"So I wanted short hair!" Roger said loudly. "Is that a crime?"  
  
"But that's the thing, Roger," Brian said quietly. "You don't."  
  
"Brian's right, dear," Freddie agreed. "You love your long hair. You even encouraged us to keep our hair long; you said it was very rock and roll."  
  
But Roger ignored the majority of Freddie's sentence and said irritably, "Yes, Brian is always right, isn't he?"  
  
Brian fixed Roger with a blank stare, before turning on his heel.  
  
Freddie and Roger exchanged a look, before rushing after him.  
  
"He was only trying to help you, Rog," Freddie said out of the corner of his mouth as they followed Brian down the dark hallway.  
  
"I can't help that I'm so irritable," Roger whispered back. "I don't feel like myself, Freddie!"  
  
"Where are you going?" Freddie called after Brian.  
  
"I'm leaving," Brian said flatly. "I need to get out of this house. Now."  
  
"We have nowhere else to go," Roger pointed out.  
  
Brian stopped at the top of the stairs. "Sleeping in a ditch would be better than this! Has it occurred to you that this house has been bringing out the worst in all of us since we arrived? It's making us distrust one another. It's taking our real life fears and magnifying them times a thousand."  
  
Roger's eyes widened. "It is?"  
  
Brian turned and descended the staircase. "And it's so frustrating because I know this is happening, I know how irrational this all is, and I still can't control my thoughts or my emotions!"   
  
And with that being said, he yanked open the heavy front doors.  
  
"We can't leave without Deaky!" Roger protested as he and Freddie hurried down the stairs.  
  
"Or the girls," Freddie pointed out.  
  
But as Brian stood there, grasping the door handle tightly, he didn't see the wrap around porch, like he was expecting.   
  
He felt his bandmates, who weren't expecting Brian to stop so suddenly, bump into him and he grasped the door frame to keep himself from falling into the empty void that had replaced the porch. An empty void that was filled with thousands of tiny white stars.  
  
Sort of like outer space.  
  
Roger, seeing what they were up against, hooked a protective arm around Brian's waist, as Brian bowed his head and allowed a tear to roll off his nose and fall into the darkness below.  
  
Thoroughly unnerved, Freddie yanked Brian and Roger away from the doorway and slammed the door shut.  
  
\---  
  
John had instructed Ronnie to close her eyes, before clamping a hand over young John's mouth as he dragged him off her.  
  
He was carefully weighing the little black vial in the palm of his hand, when a soft light filled the room. Looking over his shoulder, John saw a white glow shining from the crawl space and felt like he'd been released from some terrible influence. He let the vial drop to the floor as he felt younger John grab his wrist, preparing to defend himself, but as he also witnessed the light, he went limp and John lowered his younger self - who reeked of alcohol - to the ground.  
  
"John?" Ronnie said nervously. "Can I open my eyes?"  
  
John looked at her sadly, knowing the moment she opened her eyes and saw him, she'd fear him...unless there was a way he could speak to her without her seeing him.  
  
"One moment," he whispered.  
  
Very gently, John pulled Ronnie to a sitting position and turned her, so that her back was to him. He then helped her so that she was sitting between the safety of his legs.  
Not wanting to frighten her, John merely put his hands protectively on her shoulders and said, "You can open your eyes."  
  
Ronnie did so and saw the light, which reminded her so much of the light she had seen bobbing in the woods earlier. She suddenly remembered how she had gotten onto the floor in the first place and quickly covered her ears to block out the music.  
  
John gently linked his fingers through hers and lowered her hands. As Ronnie realized the music was gone, she relaxed, leaning back slightly and feeling John's soft hair brushing her cheek, and found she couldn't smell alcohol anymore. Had she imagined it before?  
  
As the light faded, she whispered, "I've never been so afraid in my entire life."  
  
"You don't need to be afraid," John said quietly. "B-because..."  
  
Ronnie waited patiently for him to go on.  
  
"Because I love you," John finished.  
  
Ronnie went still. "But...you don't know me yet."  
  
"Ronnie, I...I do know you, and I should tell you that..."  
  
Ronnie's gaze had been traveling along the moonlit path on the ground and at that moment, she saw a figure lying motionless on the floor. A tall, thin figure with long hair and a navy button-down shirt...Looking over her shoulder, Ronnie saw a black sleeve and instantly, she was hit in the heart with an arrow of misery.  
  
Before John could finish his sentence, Ronnie broke free of him and rushed over to the figure. She fell to her knees beside John.  
  
"John," she whispered urgently as she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "John, wake up."  
  
Future John opened his mouth to explain and found that once more, his voice was gone. He threw a fierce look over his shoulder at the crawl space, before getting to his knees.  
  
Ronnie held out a hand that stopped him from coming closer. "Don't!"   
  
It was then, as her gaze swept the floor, that she saw the black vial. Snatching it off the floor, she held it to the moonlight and saw a skull and crossbones on the bottle.   
  
"You killed him?" Ronnie cried out. "How could you!?"  
  
John shook his head helplessly, as he opened his mouth and tried to speak. He needed to convince her that he hadn't harmed anyone, he needed her to know who he really was, but how could he do that without his voice?  
  
Ronnie threw the bottle into the fire that was still burning low on the hearth. The flames hissed angrily and momentarily turned black as a piercing shriek filled the air and she continued to touch young John, tugging at his hands and searching for a pulse with her shaking fingers, but he would not respond.  
  
With a racing heart, future John jumped to his feet, realizing that there was always the option of writing out his confession, and began to tear the room apart as he looked for paper and a writing utensil.  
  
Ronnie didn't care where he was going, as long as he was leaving. She couldn't bear the sadness that was coursing through her veins, the despair that she knew would return if she ever saw frightening John again. She felt like her entire world was ending and seeing John lying so still on the ground only fueled her anguish.  
  
And then a horrifying thought struck her.  
  
If John in 1971 had been killed, would John still be waiting for her in 1993 when she returned? For the first time, she acknowledged to herself how much she needed _her_ John back, flaws and all. Even though she was still very angry at him and afraid _for_ him, she would give anything to have him here, with her, right now.  
  
And if John had truly been erased from time in 1971, would that mean that all five of their children would never have existed? She pressed her hands to her growing stomach. And that this new baby would be no more?  
  
Ronnie imagined herself returning to an empty house in 1993, having lost everyone she loved, and with a heartbroken cry, she buried her face in young John's chest.  
  
Future John was having no luck finding paper or a pen and he was so desperate, he was inspecting his fingers, considering pricking one, pulling a book off the shelf, and writing his message in blood, when his wedding ring caught his attention.  
  
_That's it_, he thought to himself, as he pulled the wedding band off his finger. Perhaps if he showed it to her, she'd finally understand who he was.

The moment he heard Ronnie's cry he was at her side, but the look on her face when she lifted her head made him reconsider touching her.  
  
John couldn't bear the way she was looking at him, as if she _hated_ him.  
  
"He was _everything_ to me," she said in a low, anguished voice. "And you took him away!"  
  
John shook his head vehemently as Ronnie rose from the ground. He realized that she was going to run away from him..._again_...and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let her go again, he couldn't keep chasing her around this house, getting absolutely nowhere, not when he may have just found a way to make her understand who he was...  
  
But the moment John climbed to his feet, Ronnie took off at a run, promising herself that she'd return to the motionless figure on the ground as soon as she could. She tore open the library doors and turned right, hoping that the long, dim hallway ahead of her would offer her refuge.

But frightening John was fast, he was right on her heels, and as she reached the end of the hall, she was met with a fiery dead end.  
  
Instead of a door - or even a _window - _there was only a dark marble fireplace embedded in the wall, with a roaring fire within. Spinning around, Ronnie curled her hands into fists as John stopped in front of her and held out his hand, his fingers closed over something.  
  
Ronnie wasn't about to wait to find out what he was offering her. She lunged to the right and tried to move around him but John caught her in his arms, fully realizing this would only fuel her fire, would only enrage her and frighten her and make her hate him more. But he had no choice.  
  
And though Ronnie fought as best as she could, and though John was barely able to contain her, she still found herself backed right up against the fireplace. She fell to her knees, making her weight extremely heavy, but John merely sunk to the ground with her.  
  
Ronnie felt the heat invading her clothing and searing her back, her bottom, her thighs, but still she pressed her hands against John's chest and pushed herself away from him, leaning back dangerously towards the fire.  
  
But the heat was unbearable and silently cursing him, Ronnie twisted her fingers in his shirt and pulled herself towards him in her desperate attempt to escape the heat, while unwillingly placing herself fully into his arms.  
  
While keeping one arm firmly around her, John tried to pry open her fingers with his other hand, to get his wedding band somehow into her grasp, but she stubbornly shoved her hands into her jean pockets, looked away, and squirmed in his grasp.  
  
John caught her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him. Ronnie moaned in protest, only able to concentrate on the overwhelming depression that was crushing her soul, and feeling the fight leave her, she looked into frightening John's eyes. She caught her breath as he touched her face, wiping away one of her tears with his thumb. And she was suddenly full of self doubt. Was this..._whatever _he was...in front of her really capable of harm, of murder?  
  
Those incredibly sad eyes almost seemed to reflect exactly what she was feeling, but they were such a lovely color and although full of anguish, they also somehow had room for a compassion that was being aimed directly at her, though she couldn't understand why.   
  
And it reminded her that John was the most beautiful of disasters.  
  
John took advantage of the moment of calm to slip the wedding ring into Ronnie's back pocket. But Ronnie only felt a finger trailing down her backside and immediately, her doubts were washed away.  
  
Of _course _he was capable of all sorts of terrible things! Was he not trying to seduce her at this very moment, trying to catch her off guard so that perhaps he could finish her off as well?  
  
And tearing her hands from her pockets, she grasped John's shirt once more and yelled, "Freddie!"

As Freddie appeared, Ronnie pushed John forcefully away. He fell against a side table, which shook violently, and a vase fell to the floor and shattered.  
  
Freddie helped John to his feet and carefully guided him around the shattered vase, before turning his attention to Ronnie, who had thrown herself into his arms.  
  
"Freddie!" she cried. "Oh, Freddie."  
  
"Sshh," Freddie whispered, patting her on the back and throwing a puzzled glance at John. "It's all right, darling, I'm here. What's happened?"  
  
"Freddie, he - " and Ronnie threw an accusing look at John, "killed John!"  
  
John opened his mouth to defend himself and was surprised when he found his voice had returned.  
  
"I didn't kill him," he said quietly. "I would never."  
  
"Oh, _now_ you can talk?" Ronnie said spitefully.  
  
John looked visibly hurt.  
  
"Darling, don't worry," Freddie assured Ronnie. "He's not dead. Only unconscious because he's drunker than a skunk."  
  
The relief that flooded her heart was so overwhelming that Ronnie felt the need to sit on the floor. Freddie caught her before she could cut her arse on the sharp shards of vase that littered the ground  
  
As he lowered Ronnie to a much safer area, he took in her red cheeks, blotched from crying, and the circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and the haunted look in her eyes, as if she were being hunted, as if fear had taken over her entire mind, and the way her mouth was down-turned in disappointment, as if she were feeling a sadness that was so heavy it had sunk her smile into a permanent frown...  
  
"Darling," he said very gently, as he knelt on the floor beside her. "What's happened to you?"  
  
"Freddie," Ronnie said, her voice thick. "I'm so depressed. I feel like the life has been sucked out of me, I feel so hopeless. I feel like my entire world has ended. I feel like..." Ronnie shook her head, unable to articulate exactly how miserable she was feeling. "I feel like there's _no point!"  
  
_"Now that sounds familiar," Freddie said softly, giving John a meaningful look.  
  
John felt the familiar ache in his heart return as he realized that the very words he had said to Ronnie in their kitchen had come back to haunt him. He got onto his knees beside Ronnie and reached for her.  
  
"No!" Ronnie said in panic as she threw her arms around Freddie in her haste to get away from John. "Don't _touch_ me!"  
  
John immediately pulled his hand away and looked at the ground.  
  
"Now darling..." Freddie began reasonably.  
  
"He's the reason I feel this way," Ronnie interrupted angrily. "I never felt this way before him. He _terrifies_ me."  
  
"There's something you should know about him," Freddie said carefully, before turning to John and saying, "Go on, darling. Tell her."  
  
John had been trying his best to stay calm in the face of Ronnie's anger, to keep his face blank, but it was proving to be extraordinarily difficult as Ronnie pierced his heart with her words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out and this time, it was his own fault.  
  
Ronnie uncomfortably hugged herself. "Send me home, Freddie."  
  
"Darling, I can't," Freddie whispered.  
  
"What do you mean, you _can't_?"  
  
"I'll explain to you after, but right now, there's something important you must know." And that being said, Freddie poked John in the arm.  
  
"Ronnie?"  
  
The trio turned at a voice that had sounded from a few feet down the dark hallway. A figure stepped into the light.  
  
When Freddie saw that it was young John, and that he and future John were staring at each other, he ran a hand down his face. "Fuck," he muttered. "There goes rule number two."  
  
Ronnie jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over future John in her haste to get to young John, who reluctantly tore his gaze away from his doppelganger, figuring perhaps it was a vision - the result of too much alcohol. Ronnie brushed a stray piece of hair away from his face, staring at him in wonder, so thankful that he was alive.  
  
Future John watched miserably and tried not to think about how that had always been Ronnie's sign of affection for _him_. He tried not to think about how much it hurt to watch her do it to someone else...even if it was, in a way, him.  
  
Covering his eyes with his hand, he realized that he was jealous of himself and how utterly ridiculous that was.  
  
"Darling, you're falling in love with the wrong John!" Freddie warned Ronnie.  
  
Ronnie glanced at Freddie in surprise. "What do you mean?"  
  
Freddie took future John's hand, pulled him to his feet, and positioned him in front of Ronnie. "This is the John you should be showering with your affections!"  
  
Ronnie gawked at Freddie. "You're joking."  
  
"I assure you I'm not, darling."  
  
"You honestly expect me to love _that?" _  
  
"You can stop referring to him as a thing, dear, he is a human being!"  
  
John, caught between them both, tried to make himself smaller.  
  
"He has yet to prove that!" Ronnie exclaimed.

"You really don't know him, darling?" Freddie asked incredulously. "You can honestly look into his eyes and tell me you don't know who he is?"  
  
"No," Ronnie said flatly. "And I consider myself lucky to not know him, if he makes people feel like they're dying inside."  
  
John turned away.  
  
"John darling," Freddie said urgently. "You need to tell her right now."  
  
John shook his head.  
  
As Freddie helplessly observed his friend, he realized that he knew exactly what John was doing. He was shielding himself from Ronnie's accusations, from her wrath, from the possibility that she might reject him. He was protecting himself the only way he knew how - by not saying anything at all.  
  
"Deaky, I know you wanted to tell her this yourself," Freddie told John, "but keeping it a secret is only going to hurt you both. If you won't tell her, darling, then I will."  
  
_Deaky?_ Ronnie thought to herself. _Does Freddie honestly believe this entity is John?_  
  
John slowly turned back to them, and Ronnie watched as a tear slid down his cheek and made it's way over the cut on his lip - the cut she had put there. He winced in pain. But even so, she still found herself glaring at him, because the horrible melancholy in the pit of her stomach was so powerful that she felt like she'd never be the same again, and it was all frightening John's fault. He had manipulated her, he had taken a perfectly calm, level-headed woman who just wanted to help her family, and turned her into a depressed, wildly emotional, afraid girl who was giving into all sorts of dark desires. And she watched with satisfaction as frightening John took a step back and for the first time all night, she felt like she was in control.  
  
But that feeling disappeared when she felt fingers grip her hair. She quickly glanced at young John, but he wasn't touching her. And then, a force pushed her so close to him that their faces were only inches apart. John searched her eyes as he looked down at her, clearly wondering what was happening, but Ronnie felt safe in the knowledge that John would not be forward with her at this moment, even if he was drunk.  
  
Drunk John might lose his license, or roll under a table for a little while, or politely inquire who the band was when a Queen song came on, but he wouldn't be so forward as to kiss her in front of others.  
  
And then, the invisible fingers in her hair pushed her head forward, pressing her lips against young John's.  
  
Ronnie quickly pulled back and felt the fingers release her hair. Young John stared at her, equally shocked, and she was mortified as she realized that he likely thought it had been her plan all along, he couldn't have known that she had been taken over by some mysterious force, and...  
  
Ronnie heard a sob and spun around, only to see frightening John in Freddie's arms.  
  
"Oh darling," Freddie whispered to him. "There, there, Deaky, it's all right."  
  
Ronnie couldn't understand why the terrible scene in front of her made her feel so guilty - she owed frightening John _nothing_ \- but her chest hurt as she watched frightening John cry into Freddie's shoulder.  
  
Freddie looked up at her and said very quietly, "Does _this_ prove to you that he's human, dear?"  
  
Ronnie felt her stomach churn dangerously as she backed away. Freddie probably thought she had kissed young John on purpose.  
  
"She doesn't understand that it's you," Freddie reminded John gently. "You must know that, darling. She still loves _you_." He held out a hand to Ronnie. "Please, darling. Please come here."  
  
Ronnie clamped a hand over her mouth as she realized that her morning sickness was about to strike again.  
  
"Don't leave, darling," Freddie pleaded. "I give you my full permission to vomit on Prenter's carpet." He turned back to John and rubbed his back briskly. "Sssh, it's all right, Deaky, it's _all right_."  
  
Ronnie shook her head, feeling the bile slowly rising up her throat as she took another step back.  
  
"Ronnie," Freddie warned her. "If you leave, I won't be able to talk to you. You'll only be able to call on me _one last time_."  
  
Ronnie couldn't take it anymore. The overwhelming urge to throw up, young John's questioning stare, Freddie's concerned gaze, and frightening John's heartbroken sobs...

Feeling like a complete monster, Ronnie turned and ran down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is SO late and I'm SO sorry I left you hanging for two weeks! First, I went on vacation. And then I re-wrote this chapter at least three times. But anyway - things are still pretty grim but I promise you some beautiful moments in the near future!


	8. Chapter 8

Ronnie burst back into the library and with one hand over her mouth, ran to the window and unlatched it with her free hand. Climbing onto the window seat, she pushed the window open and jumped out, where she proceeded to vomit behind a bush.  
  
As she retched, she thought about how she'd never be able to bring herself to go back into the house, not after what had just happened. The atmosphere inside was so heavy and she was sure she couldn't face Freddie, young John, or frightening John again. They would surely have questions she couldn't answer.  
  
But as Ronnie left her puke bush and walked slowly towards what she assumed was the backyard, she thought about how she had questions, too. Like why her kiss to young John had made frightening John cry. And why Freddie appeared to know frightening John. She had been so sure he was just a vengeful spirit who had taken John's form, but was it possible he was something more?  
  
As she rounded the corner and saw two figures conversing with their heads bent close together, she quickly ducked out of sight. Crouching on the ground, she recognized Anita and Prenter - but Prenter looked distinctly older, with a mustache. Had he managed to grow that in the past six hours? Ronnie tried not to be impressed.  
  
After a few minutes, Prenter went back inside the house and Ronnie emerged from her hiding place.  
  
Anita let out a sigh of relief. "I was just coming to find you," she said, taking Ronnie's hand and pulling her away from the house and up a hill. "I don't know if you've spoken with Freddie lately but...apparently he can't send us back to our own times right now."

"I know," Ronnie sighed.  
  
Anita stopped suddenly. "Before we go any further, I have to ask you. Do you _want_ to return?"

Ronnie didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Anita nodded, before plunging into a forest. "Prenter said there's a portal to the future back here somewhere."

"Anita, I don't know if we can trust Prenter," Ronnie said uncertainly.

"I know," Anita said regretfully, "but though I love Freddie dearly, I can't wait for him to fix this. I need to get out of here."

Ronnie could relate, so she allowed Anita to lead her through the dark trees and hopefully, towards home.

\---

Freddie yanked open the dining room doors and strode across the entirety of the large room.

"I could have sworn I saw a door back here somewhere," he muttered. "And if we're lucky, it won't lead to the solar system."

"Just say it Freddie," Roger said bluntly. "We're trapped here, aren't we?"

"Nonsense, darling," Freddie said dismissively, as they approached a set of French double doors. "We're too talented to die here."

"Maybe it's all a trick of the mind," Roger suggested. "Perhaps when Brian opened the door he imagined outer space, and so we all saw it, too."

"Believe me, outer space is the last thing on my mind right now," Brian said.  
  
"Perhaps it wasn't real," Roger added.

"Well, you _could_ go find out," Freddie offered, "but then you may end up falling into a void of nothing and we'd need to put out an advertisement for a new drummer. It was hard enough finding Deaky."  
  
Roger went silent, indicating that he did _not_ want to find out, and Freddie opened the double doors. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw a field of grass, with a hill sloping gently upward.  
  
"Wait!" Roger exclaimed, grasping Freddie's elbow before he could step outside. He delicately dipped a toe in the grass. "What if it's an illusion and we fall into space?"

Brian grabbed the nearest object - a spoon - and threw it out the door. It landed in the grass with a soft thud. Without so much as a word, he walked past his bandmates and out into the crisp, cool air.

"So we _can_ leave!" Roger said, clearly relieved, as he and Freddie followed Brian outside.

"It would appear so, darling," Freddie agreed, as he looked up at the enormous yellow moon in the sky.

Roger immediately turned to the left, where there was a small path through the trees a few feet away. Roger approached the path but the moment he got too close to it, an invisible force pushed him roughly off his feet and he landed on his back.  
  
Growling to himself, he jumped up and ran in the opposite direction, but the same exact thing happened. The moment he reached the perimeter of the property, a blast of invisible air hit him and he landed on the ground a few feet away.

"What is he, a fucking magician!?" Roger shouted angrily as Freddie pulled him to his feet and brushed him off.

"Apparently," Brian said dryly. "It would appear we truly are trapped."

Freddie glanced up the hill. "Unless we can get through the trees," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would lead us somewhere else."  
  
"Well, let's find out," Roger said impatiently, as he began to climb the hill.

"And then if it works, we'll come back for Deaky and the girls," Freddie promised himself.

Brian used his long legs to his advantage and quickly passed Roger as they made their way up the hill. "You can leave Anita here, for all I care," he muttered.

"You don't mean that, darling!" Freddie exclaimed as he hurried after him.  
  
Brian didn't answer.

\---

Spirit Freddie signed his name at the bottom of a letter with a dramatic flourish. "There!" he said, satisfied, before turning to a copy of the same exact letter, and signing that one, as well.  
  
He folded his letters, placing each one in it's very own envelope. Then he made a show of dripping wax on them and stamping the seals with the stamper he had found in the library.  
  
Disgusted, he saw an ornate P stamped onto his letters. 

"Prenter, that rotter," he muttered to himself as he used his pen to add an additional little mark, effectively making the Ps into Bs, which would just have to stand for Bulsara for now.  
  
He glanced over at future John, who was staring listlessly out the library window, not even caring enough to ask Freddie where he had found a pen where John couldn't when he so desperately needed one an hour before.

"Darling, I know how hurt you are," Freddie said sympathetically, as he placed one of the letters in John's hand. "But it's the only way to make things better."

John said nothing, just like Freddie expected, and he took advantage of the silence by turning to young John, who had so many questions but had not yet become sober enough to articulate them.  
  
"You, my dear, are drunk," he explained. "In fact, you're so drunk that you're hallucinating. That's why you see me, and that's why you see an exact replica of yourself right over there. If you ever manage to sober up, you will forget us."  
  
Young John nodded slowly.  
  
"But when you see Ronnie," Freddie continued, handing him the second letter, "I need you to give her this and I need you to tell her to check her back pockets. Can you do that for me, darling?"  
  
Again, young John nodded.  
  
"Good," Freddie said, before turning him towards the door and giving him a gentle push. "Off you pop, darling."

As he watched young John carefully exit the room, he could only hope that Ronnie would find him before Prenter did.  
  
"Freddie?"  
  
Freddie turned immediately and gave future John his full attention. "Yes, darling?"  
  
John held out a pair of scissors. "Will you cut my hair?"  
  
Freddie looked at him strangely. "Whatever for?"  
  
"So that..." John sighed and took a deep breath. "S-so that when she sees me again, she'll know it's me."  
  
Freddie observed John, who was looking at him so hopefully though his bloodshot eyes, which were still full of residual tears. But it heartened Freddie to know that after what John had witnessed in the hallway, he wasn't going to give up.  
  
"Of course, darling," Freddie said and he accepted the scissors.

\---  
  
"My God, this forest is neverending!" Freddie declared as they trudged wearily through the trees.  
  
"It's terrifying is what it is," Roger said irritably.  
  
"Are you afraid?" Freddie asked in a consoling tone. "Shall I sing to you, darling?"  
  
"No!"   
  
Freddie began to sing anyway.  
  
_Water babies singing in a lily pool delight_  
_Blue power monkeys praying in the dead of night_  
  
"There's a light straight ahead," Brian said, squinting through the darkness, "so we should be very near the end."  
  
"Well, welcome back to earth, Brian May!" Roger exclaimed. "That's the first word you've said in the past ten minutes."

Freddie sang louder, hoping to distract his friends from an argument.  
  
_Here comes the Black Queen poking in the pile_  
_Fi fo the Black Queen marching single file_  
  
"Freddie, stop!" Roger cried out, clearly unnerved. "With our luck, you'll summon a ghostly woman in black!"  
  
"Isn't it obvious, darling?" Freddie said calmly. "The Black Queen isn't a ghost...it's Prenter!"  
  
He then advanced well ahead of them, swinging a large stick.  
  
_Take this! _  
_Take that!_  
_Bring them down to size_  
  
"You're awfully cheerful," Brian remarked.  
  
"As should you be, darling!" Freddie said enthusiastically. "Don't you feel so much lighter, being away from that horrible house?"  
  
Before Brian could open his mouth to spout negativity, they finally reached the end of the woods. Freddie and Brian stepped out into the clearing, but Roger remained in the forest.  
  
"Well, are you coming, darling?" Freddie asked.  
  
"No," Roger said firmly. "Absolutely not."  
  
Brian glanced at the ground and saw small, white headstones sprinkled across the dark grass. "Roger, it's just a cemetery."  
  
"Exactly!" Roger fumed. "You can go and get lost in the graveyard. I think I'll take my chances in the house."  
  
"Oh, don't be such a rotten egg, Roger," Freddie said as he took the drummer's hand and pulled him out into the open. "It's the living you need to fear, not the dead!"   
  
Roger bumped into a gravestone and shivered, as if someone had poured cold water on him.  
  
"If this ends in a road, we'll know we have an escape route," Brian pointed out as he led the way through the cemetery.  
  
But the cemetery was much larger than they expected. Headstones covered hill, after hill, after hill, and there was no road in sight.  
  
"Oh look Brian," Roger said cheerfully as he pointed to a tombstone and made a show of reading it. "Here lies all your hopes and dreams!"  
  
"Glad you're feeling more like yourself," Brian muttered.  
  
"Oh, and here lies Roger's self-confidence," Freddie added, patting a different tombstone and whispering to it, "Rest in peace, dear. We'll miss you."  
  
Roger scowled as they reached the crest of the hill, but his frown quickly disappeared as he fell into a giant hole.  
  
He managed to catch the edge before he fell in completely, but looking below, he didn't see darkness, like he expected to. Instead, he saw a strange shimmering light that was tinted red.  
  
As Roger slipped a little further down the dirt wall, he summoned enough energy to swing his arm up and grab onto Brian, who lost his balance and also fell in.  
  
"What are you doing!?" Brian exclaimed as he dug his fingers into the grass and held on tightly to the edge of the pit.  
  
"If I'm going to hell, you're coming with me!" Roger yelled back, holding onto Brian for dear life.  
  
"We should have known Prenter's backyard would have an entrance to hell," Freddie said, as he calmly observed his bandmates and their distress.  
  
"Well, don't just stand there!" Roger shouted in alarm. "Help us, Freddie!"  
  
Freddie gave them an apologetic look, before getting onto his knees. Grasping Brian's wrists, he tugged with all his might.  
  
Brian tried his best to help Freddie by pulling himself forward, but it became increasing difficult, considering that Roger was holding onto him with his full weight. Brian was gradually beginning to lose hope, when someone else grabbed onto his arms.  
  
Lifting his head, Brian looked up into Anita's eyes. She was gritting her teeth and clinging to him tightly as she assisted Freddie in yanking him forward.   
  
Meanwhile, Ronnie had extended her hands to Roger and was digging her heels against the crumbling dirt wall as she pulled him out of the pit.  
  
Thanks to an enormous amount of teamwork, Brian and Roger found themselves sprawled out on the grass, safely away from the giant hole. As they looked over their shoulders, they saw that a headstone was positioned at the entrance to the hole, firmly planted in the grass.  
  
"We just fell into an actual grave?" Roger said in disbelief.  
  
Anita, who had been peering into the hole and watching the shimmering red light, turned her attention to the gravestone. Squinting, she read it, before her eyes widened and she said in an urgent voice, "Ronnie!"  
  
Ronnie crawled over and read the gravestone. In large, block letters were the words **To The Future**, with an arrow pointing downward into the hole.  
  
"This is truly it?" Ronnie whispered, hardly believing that her nightmare might actually be at an end and she could finally be going home.  
  
"I think so," Anita said nervously, "though it seems rather too obvious, doesn't it?"  
  
Brian could make out the words on the gravestone from where he sat, and his heart sunk as he realized he would have to say goodbye to Anita. But it seemed too soon. She had just rescued him and he knew now that he was not angry with her, he could never be angry at her. Rather, he was angry with himself and had unfairly projected it onto her.  
  
But Freddie and Roger didn't know that Anita and Ronnie were time travelers, and so they sat in the grass, holding each other, and watched the scene in front of them.  
  
Ronnie and Anita leaned over the hole, the light reflecting off their faces in unnerving waves, like red ocean water, before looking at each other.  
  
"Do we just jump in?" Ronnie asked.  
  
"I...I guess so," Anita answered, knowing she should just take the chance and dive in without another word to Brian, but something made her glance up at him.  
  
He was staring at her sadly, regretfully, but when she met his eyes, he gave her the smallest of reassuring smiles.  
  
She couldn't honestly leave him here like this, could she? With so many unanswered questions, with such hard feelings?  
  
And Freddie and Roger...even though they were far away from the house, Anita could still see the self-doubt swimming in Roger's eyes, and fearful anticipation of the future on Freddie's face, and they both looked so incredibly young and so lost...  
  
"Ronnie," Anita whispered. "I don't know if I'm ready."  
  
Ronnie had been having similar doubts as she thought about leaving John drunk and vulnerable in that terrible house, and about disappointing Spirit Freddie by leaving without his consent and his help, and did she honestly want to throw her pregnant body in a mysterious magical ditch because Prenter had recommended it?  
  
"Perhaps we should stay a little longer," Ronnie whispered back.  
  
Anita nodded and took Ronnie's hand. Together, they stood and retreated away from the hole and together, they accompanied a very thankful Roger, Brian, and Freddie back to the house.  
  
But the moment they were standing at the top of the hill, with the forest behind them and the house in plain sight, Ronnie felt her heart sink. She'd give anything to not go back in there, and the closer she got, the sadder she felt.   
  
She took a few half-hearted steps down the hill, before stopping and sitting in the grass. Pulling her knees as close to her chest as her pregnant belly would allow, she wrapped her arms around herself and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position because it sort of felt like she was sitting on something...  
  
Brian watched Ronnie sink into the grass and folded his arms. Though he had been dealing with his own difficulties, he had noticed a significant change in her and it had been most obvious to him in the cemetery, when her features had been lit by the strange red light and he had seen the hopelessness that was written across her face. This was not the same Ronnie who had fixed his van the night before.  
  
And he had a pretty good feeling he knew what she was experiencing, only because he had felt it a few times himself, while in school.  
  
"The best way to make _yourself_ feel better is by making someone else feel better," Freddie said knowingly from behind him.  
  
"Well, that was certainly wise, Fred," Brian said, impressed.  
  
"Go work your magic, Dr. May," Roger said with a grin, as he pulled Freddie down the hill.  
  
Brian listened to Roger and Freddie chatter on their way to the hill's bottom...

"A kind of magic, dear?" Freddie was saying.

"There can be only one," Roger replied.

"This rage that lasts a thousand years will soon be done," Freddie agreed.

...before he slowly stepped down the hill and sat himself down next to Ronnie.  
  
"How are you holding up, Ronnie?" he asked kindly.  
  
Ronnie tried to smile, but failed. "I wish I could tell you fine," she said quietly. "But I'm honestly not so sure, Brian."  
  
Brian nodded. "Well, I don't know if this will help you but..."  
  
Ronnie looked over at him curiously.  
  
Brian took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't making unfair assumptions, before continuing. "I've felt depressed before, Ronnie. I'm sure I will again."   
  
Anita, who had been leaning against a tree, felt her heart burn. _Oh Brian_, she thought to herself. _You have no idea what's coming._   
  
He had no idea that his worst bout of depression was yet to come, that it would occur in the early nineties, after losing Freddie and his father. He had no idea that he'd actually look for a way out this time, that he'd consider drastic measures.  
  
"Is that how you could tell I was feeling..." Ronnie couldn't even bring herself to say the word _depressed_ at the moment, because it made her think of John, "...so sad?"  
  
"Yes," Brian told her. "And it's perfectly normal."  
  
Ronnie shifted her weight to her hip uncomfortably as the sensation of sitting on an object became stronger. _What the hell is that?_ Ronnie thought to herself. A tiny rock?  
  
"The important thing to remember is that there are better times ahead," Brian said softly.  
  
"Brian," Ronnie said suddenly. "What would you do if you had a loved one who was suffering from depression?"  
  
Brian considered her question carefully before he answered. "I'd listen to them. Let them scream, let them cry. Encourage them to feel. Remind them that I'm here, for better or for worse. I'd take it one day at a time with them, I'd show them the light at the end of the tunnel. If they couldn't see it at first, I'd make them see it."  
  
Ronnie was nodding along with him, trying to apply his wisdom to her own situation with John.  
  
"I would accept them as they are," Brian continued. "I wouldn't force them to change but I wouldn't ignore their suffering and try to pretend everything was normal."  
  
Ronnie realized that through her conversation with Brian, she was gaining the tools she needed to help John, just like Freddie said would happen.  
  
"And most importantly," Brian said gently, "I'd love them unconditionally."  
  
Ronnie knew she could do that but first, she needed to find a way to help herself.  
  
"You're going to be fine, Ronnie," Brian said as he squeezed her hand.  
  
Ronnie squeezed it back and gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Brian. Truly."  
  
As Brian returned to the top of the hill, Ronnie stood up and brushed grass remnants off her bum. It was then she felt the small object in her back pocket. Pulling it out, she held it in the palm of her hand and held it up to the light of the moon. Frowning, she saw it was a gold wedding band.  
  
_How did that get there?_ she wondered to herself, but as she replayed the events of that night, she remembered fighting frightening John, and the feeling of his hand on her backside...  
  
Had he slipped the ring in her pocket on purpose? He had been trying to put something in her hand before that, and she hadn't let him, so it would make sense that he would put it in her pocket, if it was the only way he could give it to her...  
  
But why...?  
  
The wedding ring was so familiar to her and as she ran her thumb over it, Ronnie suddenly realized why.  
  
It was because it was John's ring. John's wedding ring. The ring she had given to him.  
  
\---  
  
Anita turned away. She had watched Brian give Ronnie hope and as a result, had come to the realization that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't ever hate Brian. He was too compassionate, he was too special. He was _hers.  
_  
She turned back to the forest, suddenly wishing to be alone, and as she walked through the trees, she began to sing softly to herself. It was a song she hadn't sang, let alone heard, in a very long time.  
  
_I should know better_  
_What am I waiting for_  
_If I lose my heart I'll only have myself to blame_  
  
Anita sat in the dead leaves. She had come here to fight Brian, to achieve some kind of victory for herself, but instead, she had fallen in love with him all over again.  
  
_But if you leave me now _  
_You know I'll never know how to fall in love again_  
  
Anita shivered. At the time this song had been fun to sing back in 1986, but it was frightening how relevant the song was to her current situation.  
  
_Baby I know where this road leads, but I'm walking_  
_Walking down it anyway_  
  
She knew how her love story with Brian would end. She knew how it would affect her. And yet, it appeared she was prepared to run down the same path once more anyway, regardless of the consequences.  
  
_Baby I know what my poor heart needs_  
_But I'm talking_  
_You know I'm talking of love_  
  
"That's very pretty," a voice said from behind her.

Anita spun around and saw Brian watching her with a soft expression.  
  
"Well, I'm glad you think so," Anita said. "Because you wrote it."  
  
"I did?" Brian asked, as he sat beside her.  
  
Anita nodded. "Or rather, you _will_ write it. The year we meet. You'll write it and I'll sing it."  
  
"You have a beautiful voice," Brian said honestly.  
  
"Thank you," Anita whispered and looked away.  
  
At that moment, Brian wanted nothing more than to travel to 1999 to kick his own arse. What would happen to him in the future to turn his heart so cold, so black, that he would voluntarily harm this woman that he already loved so much?  
  
Though he knew Anita could probably answer that question for him, he didn't want to hurt her by asking. He shifted himself so that he was sitting closer to her and put his arm around her.  
  
And she didn't fight it.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie closed her fingers over John's wedding band and held it to her heart as the terrible discovery washed over her.  
  
Frightening John was _her_ John, her husband. He must have come to the past with Freddie and he had been trying to communicate that to her, but she hadn't listened.  
  
It all made sense. The anguish that was always present in his eyes, the way he tried to protect her, the way he watched her and followed her...if John was going to follow her to the past, _of course_ he wouldn't let her be, _of course_ he wouldn't let her out of his sight.  
  
Fighting back tears, Ronnie slowly made her way down the hill as she thought about the way she had treated him. She had shouted at him, she had run away from him, she had insulted him, she had physically fought against him, she had accused him of terrible deeds, she had given him countless dirty looks...  
  
...and she had _hit_ him. She had physically harmed him.  
  
And she had made him cry! He had seen her kiss his younger self, he had seen her shower his younger self with affection, he probably thought she was falling in love with his younger self and out of love with him.  
  
Ronnie was so caught up in her miserable thoughts that she wasn't watching where she was going, that she didn't realize she was slowly making her way to the perimeter of the property, and it was too late when she heard Roger's shout of warning.  
  
"Ronnie, wait! No!"  
  
A powerful blast of air hit her in the chest and she was sent flying backwards. She landed on her back and wincing, she opened her eyes to see that she had landed at the feet of John - _her_ John, John in the black t-shirt, the John she had been so irrationally afraid of.  
  
He slowly knelt beside her as she rolled over, looked up at him, and wondered to herself where his hair had gone._  
_  
John's long locks were no more. Instead, his hair was much shorter, curling softly around his ears, and he looked so much like her husband, circa 1982.  
  
Circa 1982. Before the alcohol, before the chain smoking, before the onslaught of sickness and death. Before the depression.  
  
"Are you all right, Ronnie?" he asked softly, pulling her out of her thoughts.  
  
Ronnie sat up, still unable to take her eyes off him. "Y-yes, thank you," she whispered.  
  
John looked at her carefully, as if he were afraid to ask her his next question, before saying bravely, "Do you know me?"  
  
Ronnie slowly reached out and touched his cheek. There was such a fierce hope in his eyes that she felt a pang in her heart as she thought about everything she had made him suffer through in the last six hours. How could she ever make it up to him?  
  
"I do," Ronnie said, her voice barely above a whisper, as John closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, almost limp with relief.  
  
From behind them, Ronnie heard Roger whisper furiously to Freddie, "See? Deaky cut his hair! What's the big deal?"  
  
Freddie sighed. "Fine, darling. Cut your hair. But when you hate it, I don't want to hear a word from you."  
  
"Fine," Roger agreed.  
  
"I mean it, darling. Not even one high pitched _ahhhh_."  
  
Ronnie took a deep breath, preparing herself to say what she needed to say. She had come here to help John, and despite everything that happened and despite the way she had complicated things, she still had to do that. She fully intended to use Brian's advice. All of it.   
  
And so, she opened her mouth to remind John that she was here for him, for better or for worse, just like Brian had suggested, but found she couldn't get the words out. The lump in her throat was blocking them.  
  
And when John opened his eyes and looked at her so sweetly, the lump only grew larger. She removed her hand and got to her feet, knowing she couldn't cry in front of him again because she had to be strong for him, she had to be his rock, his light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
"I'll be right back," she said, as John scrambled to his feet. And then she turned and ran for the door.  
  
As she slipped into the dining room, she wasn't surprised to find John right behind her.  
  
"No," he said nervously. "No, Ronnie. I can't lose you again."  
  
"John, you won't," Ronnie insisted, her voice trembling, as she squeezed his hand and began to back away. "I promise, you won't. I just need to clean up."  
  
It was partially the truth. Her arms were streaked with mud and wet grass caked her jeans. But she couldn't tell him the rest of the truth.  
  
_And I need to cry my heart out before I can truly be available to help you through whatever you're going through. But I can't do that in front of you, John. I can't make you feel worse.  
_  
It would be so selfish of her to give in to her own emotions, when John was so clearly suffering and when he so desperately needed her. She turned and hurried through the dining room, cursing Prenter for having such an expansive space to eat in. Did he seriously need it? He was only _one_ person and not likely to attract willing guests.  
  
Ronnie heard footsteps behind her and quickened her pace.  
  
"But Ronnie," John pleaded. "I'm afraid that..."  
  
Ronnie turned at the bottom of the staircase and tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes. "You don't need to be afraid, John."  
  
John took her hands. "What if when you return, you don't know me again?"  
  
Ronnie swallowed a sob and instantly berated herself. How could she not have known it was him? What sort of wife was she, to be married to someone for eighteen years and not know him when she encountered him somewhere else?  
  
John's lower lip was trembling. "Ronnie, I can't face that again. I can't even tell you how...how much..."  
  
"How much it hurt?" Ronnie finished quietly, before tugging her hands gently away. "John, I'm so sorry and we'll talk about it, I promise., but right now..." She turned quickly and ran up the stairs as a tear ran down her face.  
  
She pushed open the bathroom door and turned to John one last time, to reassure him that she'd be right out, but she couldn't speak. Because if she opened her mouth, she'd surely burst into tears.  
  
John studied her face and realized he recognized the look in her eyes. He recognized it because he saw the same look every time he saw himself in a mirror.  
  
"You don't have to be brave for me, Ronnie," he said quietly.  
  
Ronnie looked at the floor, wondering how he always managed to see right through her. "Please, John. I just need a moment. I'll meet you in my room."  
  
After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, John nodded and stepped back. "A-alright."  
  
Ronnie swiftly closed the door behind her.  
  
John sat on the floor and leaned his back against the wall, making himself comfortable and preparing to wait patiently for her exactly where he was.  
  
He had no intention of waiting for her somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully things are started to make more sense - more revelations to come in the next chapter! If you're still with me, thank you so, so much!
> 
> I just recently discovered Anita's song, Talking of Love, and thought it would fit in nicely. It is quintessential eighties, but she and Brian are so cute in the music video for it!


	9. Chapter 9

Ronnie stepped under the warm water, not even bothering to take her clothes off. They were, after all, filthy and needed a good washing as much as she did.  
  
Grateful to finally be alone, Ronnie sunk to the floor of the tub and erupted into pitiful sobs, hoping the water would wash her misery down the drain along with the dirt and grass.  
  
She warned herself to be quiet in order to not alarm John, and to make it a quick sob session, but the moment she began to weep, she found she couldn't stop. She found herself acutely feeling each emotion she had acquired ever since John began to deteriorate and to feel everything at once was _so_ overwhelming. Not to mention the crippling guilt she felt on top of all of that.  
  
And so she squeezed her eyes shut, clung to the edge of the bathtub, and sucked in steam as the water turned progressively hotter.  
  
Eventually, the water stopped and Ronnie assumed she had run the shower dry. But then she felt someone helping her to her feet and guiding her out of the tub. She kept her eyes shut tightly. She figured it was John, and if she looked into his concerned eyes, she'd lose it all over again.  
  
Her savior toweled her hair dry and gently peeled the wet layers of clothing off her shivering body. As Ronnie stood there, completely exposed, she feebly tried to cover herself with her arms, but they were pushed away and she felt warm hands cupping her swollen belly.  
  
Ronnie slowly opened her sore eyes, not one bit surprised when she saw John kneeling before her. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her bare, round stomach, sending his love to the baby within.  
  
Covering her face with her hands, Ronnie felt her facial features contort into the worst of ugly crying faces as she thought about how she really didn't deserve him, not after everything she had done to him in this miserable house.  
  
John wrapped a towel around her, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to her guestroom. Closing the door firmly behind them, he set her down gently on the bed.  
  
Ronnie rolled away from him, onto her side, as she bit her lip against even more sobs that were bubbling up into her throat. She wished he would go away.  
  
But John curled his body around hers and held her as he waited patiently for her to overcome her fit of despair. The warmth of his chest seeped into her back and she felt him bury his face in her hair. And finally, she gave up any hope of stoicism and burst into noisy sobs.  
  
John linked his fingers through hers and held her tighter against him, determined to ride each wave of pain with her, because he knew that ultimately, she'd do the same for him. He tried to let her know through his body language that he was there for her, because he didn't trust himself to speak without becoming just as emotional.  
  
When Ronnie's cries eventually turned to hiccups and her breathing began to slow to normal, John pulled Freddie's letter out of his back pocket and placed it into her hands.  
  
Wiping her eyes, Ronnie stared at her name written in Freddie's familiar scrawl on the front of the envelope, before sticking her finger under the wax seal and breaking it.  
  
\---  
  
"Hello, darling."  
  
When Prenter saw it was Freddie who had entered the room, he turned back to the white piano he was sitting at. "Go away, Freddie."  
  
Freddie made a show of making his fingers into binoculars and searching the room curiously. "Where's your high horse? Did it run away when you fell off it?"  
  
Prenter grumbled as he tapped the lowest piano key over and over again, making a sound that very much resembled doom and gloom.  
  
"You had to go and infect them with positivity," he said bitterly. "Dark magic won't work if they're hopeful, Freddie. It feeds off self-doubt."  
  
"Well, is it really so bad, darling?" Freddie asked. "Is it really so bad to let everyone get on with their lives while we rest in paradise?"  
  
"I'm bored, Freddie," Prenter said sulkily.  
  
"Move over, darling, would you?" Freddie pushed Prenter further down the piano bench without waiting for his consent, before he let out an excited gasp.  
  
"I know! Why don't you go abroad with Jim and I? We're going to start traveling!"  
  
Prenter gave Freddie a doubtful look, before resorting to tapping the highest piano key incessantly.  
  
"It's about time you made a joyful noise," Freddie said cheerfully, as he laid his fingers on the keys.  
  
Prenter shot him a dark look, which disappeared as Freddie began to play a gentle melody.  
  
_In each and every soul lies a man and very soon_  
_He'll deceive and discover_  
_But even to the end of his life, he'll bring a little love_  
  
Freddie stopped singing and turned to the wretched man beside him. "Come now, Paul darling. Be an explorer of light instead of a malicious wench."  
  
"We could haunt people," Prenter suggested.  
  
Freddie glared at him darkly. "Wench."  
  
"Fine," Prenter said with a sigh. "Send them home. We'll erase this trip from history and I'll go on vacation with you and Jim."  
  
"And the cats," Freddie added, and Paul's lips twitched in the smallest of smiles.  
  
But it was the biggest of victories for Freddie.  
  
\---  
  
While curled up on her side, Ronnie opened Freddie's letter and read it as tears ran into her ear and John waited patiently with a hand pressed protectively against her belly.  
  
_Ronnie dearest,_  
  
_You were in such a hurry the last time we met that you ran away before I had the chance to tell you something of the utmost importance. Whoops!  
_  
_What you need to know, darling, is that the John you have been running away from ever since you entered this house is YOUR John. As in, your husband, John Richard Deacon.  
_  
_When Deaky learned you had traveled to 1971, he begged me to send him after you, but he wouldn't let me tell you he was there. He wanted to tell you himself, and it's my belief that, after your sizable argument, he was trying to prove something to you. And to himself.  
_  
_But he wasn't able to talk to you, the poor dear. Ask him why, darling. He'll tell you what really happened so you can stop blaming yourself (that's right, I know you are doing exactly that!).  
_  
_I also know that you're afraid and you're sad, but what you need to realize, Ronnie dear, is that this house is your worst enemy right now. You need to rise above the fear it has instilled in you. What would you do if you weren't afraid, darling?  
_  
_We are going to defeat Prenter and this nasty house with positivity.  
_  
_Call for me at 6 a.m. in the backyard. I'll have everything figured out by then and I'll be able to send you and John where you both belong.  
_  
_Home.  
_  
_With all my love,_  
_Freddie_  
  
Ronnie put the letter aside, sat up, and turned to face John.  
  
"Freddie told me to ask you what happened," she whispered, "after you came here."  
  
John looked down at his hands. "Prenter interfered," he said simply.  
  
Ronnie knew John well enough to know that what had transpired here, in the past, had already turned into a very painful memory and that he was protecting himself by putting on a mask of indifference.  
  
"How so?" Ronnie pressed him.  
  
John sighed.  
  
Ronnie lifted his chin with her index finger so that he was forced to look at her. "What did Prenter do?"  
  
John swallowed hard, before saying in a very low voice, "I asked him for his help when I came here. I asked him to help me f-find you."  
  
Ronnie listened carefully.  
  
"But every time we came face to face, he took my voice away so I couldn't tell you who I was," John continued unhappily, looking away. "And he put some kind of spell over you, Ronnie, so that you'd associate me with darkness and fear and sorrow, to the point where you couldn't bear to be near m-me."  
  
So it hadn't been that she didn't recognize him, Ronnie thought to herself. She had been _forced_ to not know him.  
  
"He had me sit around and watch, completely helpless, as you fell in love with the younger version of me," John said quietly, before he looked up and stared directly at Ronnie. "And that h-hurt."  
  
"But it wasn't somebody else entirely," Ronnie said gently. "John, it was still _you_."  
  
"But it wasn't, Ronnie," John said sadly. "I wanted to be able to hold you like that but you wouldn't let me."  
  
Ronnie reached for John's hands. "I'll let you now."  
  
John slowly scooped her up and placed her on his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist. His close proximity sent a knife of guilt through her heart.  
  
"I'm so sorry, John," she whispered tearfully. "I am _so_, so, so sorry."  
  
"It's all right."  
  
Ronnie gaped at him. "But it's not!"  
  
"It is," John insisted. "That doesn't matter now, Ronnie. All that matters is that you know who I am."  
  
"If I had known that it was you," Ronnie whispered, her emotion rising, "truly you, I would have _never_ reacted the way I did. And John, I didn't kiss him on purpose. I was pushed towards him, I was held there, I - "  
  
John pulled her back into his arms. "Sshh, Ronnie. I know. I realize now that Prenter did that. It's all right."  
  
"John, I just feel so...so..."  
  
"Depressed?" John finished gently.  
  
"Is this how you feel every day? How can you bear it?"  
  
John was silent for a moment.  
  
"I bear it for you, Ronnie," he finally said.  
  
Ronnie pulled back so that she could look at his face.  
  
John shrugged. "Even though I don't have much of a way of showing it I...I do it for you and for the children. I could let it keep me pinned down in our bed every morning, but I don't. I get up, I shave. I get dressed. And although I'm not much company, I still s-show up."  
  
Ronnie brushed his hair away from his face and John felt his heart swell at the gesture.  
  
"I never knew," Ronnie said quietly. "I never knew how difficult it was for you."  
  
"And I never knew how hard it was for _you_," John replied. "When you didn't know me, I saw how distressed you were, how depressed you were becoming. And I didn't know how to h-help you."  
  
As Ronnie looked down at their interlinked fingers, she realized that a monumental change had occurred in each of them since they had arrived in the past and that's because they had been forced to change places. Ronnie had closed herself off and adorned a cloak of terrible depression, while John had been thrown into the role of trying to understand and remedy the situation.  
  
They now knew exactly what it was like to be in each other's shoes. And that would only help them in the future. Perhaps Prenter had done something right.  
  
"You're the last person I would w-want to experience this," John said, his voice trembling. "And I wasn't strong enough to fight this at home but I can fight it here, for you, now."  
  
"But John, you're the strongest person I know," Ronnie said, as she hugged him tightly.  
  
John buried his face in her shoulder and Ronnie felt his tears soaking her skin.  
  
"We're going to go home and I'm going to help you through this," she whispered in John's ear. "We're going to do this _together_."  
  
John let out a muffled sob and nodded.  
  
"I love you," Ronnie said softly, before adding, "Deaky."  
  
John went still in Ronnie's arms. The importance of her statement hadn't escaped him. She hadn't called him Deaky in a very, very long time.  
  
"I love you, Ronnie," he whispered into her hair. "More than a-anything."  
  
Ronnie kissed his wet cheek, before asking hopefully, "Come home with me?"  
  
"Yes," John said, without hesitation.  
  
\---  
  
As Ronnie crept down the staircase, John's hand securely in hers, she squirmed uncomfortably in her damp clothes. As if her jeans hadn't been tight enough before; honestly, was this what she had considered comfortable at eighteen years old?  
  
But it really didn't matter, because in a matter of minutes, she'd be home, dry and sensibly dressed.  
  
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ronnie sent John through the library just as she heard voices coming from the dining room.  
  
"What a magnificent sunrise!" Freddie was exclaiming as he led his friends into the entryway.  
  
"The best!" Brian agreed enthusiastically. "Did you know that when the light is so orange like that, it means that the molecules in the air are - "  
  
"Oh,_ Brian_," Roger groaned. "You're never going to keep a girlfriend if you carry on like that."  
  
Anita was trying to hide a smile, when she suddenly saw a very determined Ronnie standing by the grandfather clock near the staircase.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Anita asked as she quickly approached the clock. "You took quite a fall outside."  
  
"Everything's fine," Ronnie said quietly. "But...I've decided to go home. I've done what I came here to do."  
  
Anita hugged her. "God speed, Ronnie. Be safe."  
  
"See you in the future," Ronnie promised, and Anita knew she would.  
  
Ronnie then hugged Brian, while whispering her thanks in his ear, before sharing a long group hug with Roger and Freddie.  
  
Turning, Ronnie saw that young John was standing uncertainly in the doorway. Looking back and giving the others one last friendly wave, Ronnie gently pushed John into the dining room.  
  
"How is she able to leave?" Roger asked curiously as they disappeared. "Won't she be zapped onto her back, like before?"  
  
"I have a feeling she's found another way off the property," Anita said, staring at the spot where Ronnie had just been standing. "I'm sure her ride is waiting for her."  
  
Once Ronnie was alone with young John in the dining room, she held his hand and asked, "How do you feel?"  
  
"I sort of have a headache," John admitted.  
  
Ronnie nodded. "You should probably get some rest, but first...I wanted to say goodbye."  
  
"Are you going back to the future?" John asked sadly.  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened. "How did you know that?"  
  
"Brian told me that Anita was from the nineteen nineties, and he thought you might be, too."  
  
"Well, he was right," Ronnie confessed. "I'm going back to '93."  
  
"Will I ever see you again?" John asked hopefully.  
  
"You will."  
  
"When?"  
  
"In a few years time, you'll ask me to marry you," Ronnie said with a smile.  
  
John leaned forward anxiously. "And what will your answer be?"  
  
Ronnie leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "Yes."  
  
At that moment, the grandfather clock chimed loudly, indicating it was six o'clock.   
  
And time to go.  
  
"Wait," John said quickly, before Ronnie could pull away. "Does that mean..."  
  
Ronnie reached forward and brushed a stray piece of hair behind his ear.  
  
"Does that mean you're carrying...you're carrying m-my child right now?"  
  
"Yes," Ronnie said, very softly.  
  
John slowly sunk to his knees and pressed his cheek against her belly.  
  
As the echo of the sixth chime rang through the house, Ronnie crouched down and gently kissed John's cheek, before throwing her arms around him, knowing she'd never see John this young again. And before she could think about that fact too much, she hurried to the double doors at the far end of the dining room and stepped outside.   
  
Before she shut the doors for the last time, she looked back. John's eyes were shining in the darkness, and he lifted his hand in farewell. Ronnie blew him a kiss.  
  
Future John, standing in the orange glow of the newly risen sun, turned and gave her a brave smile. Smiling in return, Ronnie shouted, "Freddie!"  
  
When no one appeared before them, Ronnie felt her heart sink. Had he not heard her? Was it too late? She turned nervously to John, who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and nodded in the direction of the garden.  
  
Spirit Freddie was kneeling on the ground, surrounded by yellow roses. He was holding one delicately between his thumb and middle finger, his eyes closed in pure bliss as he sniffed it.  
  
Ronnie and John stood, arms linked, as they watched their dear friend have a moment to himself. Ronnie's eyes filled with tears as she thought to herself that this is exactly how things should be for him now. No pain, no disease, no despair. No worrying, no hurrying. Just hundreds upon hundreds of yellow roses.  
  
And with a grin that showed all of his teeth, Freddie opened his eyes, tossed the rose behind him, and held out his hands. "Come now, darlings," he exclaimed. "1993 is waiting for you!"  
  
Ronnie and John each took one of Freddie's hands.  
  
"Back, hurry back," Freddie sang softly, "please bring it back home to me because you don't know what it means to me."  
  
And then there was only bright light.  
  
\---  
  
As Freddie, Roger, and John wandered into the kitchen on a noble quest for breakfast, Anita looked up into Brian's serene face.  
  
"I need to call on Freddie," she said. "Will you come with me?"  
  
Brian's heart sunk, but he nodded and followed Anita up the staircase. He had known this moment would come, but he wasn't ready to say goodbye to her. They were just now getting on so well with each other.  
  
But Anita had to return to her own time, Brian told himself firmly. There was no place for her here and even if she had wanted to stay, he wouldn't let her. He'd insist she go back, for her own good.  
  
Anita took in a deep, cleansing breath as she led Brian to her room, preparing herself to use her final call to Spirit Freddie.  
  
What Brian didn't know was that she wasn't going to use her call to go home. Rather, she was using her call to tell Freddie she was staying right where she was. Forever.  
  
She had no intention of leaving Brian _or _1971\. As far as she was concerned, 1999 could kiss her arse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Two updates in one week!
> 
> Sadly, the next chapter will be the last. I'm working on a new Ronnie and John fic that I'm SUPER excited about, so that'll be coming up after the tenth chapter of this fic. Thank you so much for your comments and kudos and for reading!!


	10. Chapter 10

When Ronnie opened her eyes, she found herself on her bathroom floor.  
  
Letting out a sigh of relief, she leaned back against the vanity and flexed her foot, which sort of ached. But of course it did, she had stepped on a broken shard of teacup earlier and Freddie had been kind enough to bandage it for her and...  
  
Freddie. 1971. John.  
  
As it all came back to her, Ronnie scrambled to her feet and took off at a run. Through the hallway, down the stairs...why did the kitchen have to be so _far away_...and finally, arriving at the doorway, which she clung to tightly to slow her momentum.  
  
John still was there, sitting amidst the tea and broken porcelain on the ground, but he wasn't alone. Thank goodness he wasn't alone.

As Ronnie watched the scene in front of her, she found herself pressing a hand to her heart. Because Spirit Freddie was there too, kneeling upon the cold tile, holding her husband tightly.  
  
"I wasn't ready to lose you, Freddie," John was saying, his voice muffled.  
  
"But I was ready to go, darling," Freddie said gently, cradling John's head against his shoulder.  
  
John let out a pained sigh.  
  
"But I'm always here," Freddie continued. "I always will be, darling. And while you won't remember me saying these words, you'll forever feel them in that beautiful heart of yours."  
  
John sat back and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. "W-what do you mean, I won't remember you saying this?"  
  
"I think it would be best for everyone if we just forget...this entire trip to the past ever happened," Freddie said wearily. "In only a few moments, I'll have to take those memories away from you."  
  
"What?" John whispered. "Freddie, no! Seeing you again, knowing you're here...I feel...I feel better."  
  
"Oh, darling," Freddie said softly. "Although things certainly did go to hell in the frilliest of handbaskets, it _was_ a beneficial trip for you and Ronnie. And you won't remember it in your mind, but you'll remember the positive effect it had on you. And then you'll begin to heal."  
  
John nodded, trying his best to be brave, and looked down at the tea-splattered floor.  
  
Freddie spotted Ronnie in the doorway then and held out his hand to her.  
  
"He may have aged," Freddie whispered to her, as she knelt on the floor beside them, "but that young bassist is still in there somewhere. And he lives within you, as well." He touched her heart. "Right here, darling."  
  
A tear slipped down Ronnie's cheek as she pressed her hand over Freddie's.  
  
Freddie turned back to John. "Don't ever feel pressured to get back on stage, darling. I know how hard it always was for you and if you give it up, you won't hurt my feelings."  
  
John looked surprised. "R-really?"  
  
"Really," Freddie assured him. "In fact, it will free you up to spend time with this exceptional woman and your beautiful family."  
  
John looked at Ronnie softly.  
  
Freddie leaned closer to him. "_They_ are the key to defeating your grief, Deaky."  
  
He then pressed his right hand against John's heart and his left hand against Ronnie's. "I love you both," he whispered. As John opened his mouth to make one last feeble protest, Freddie closed his eyes, his hands glowing from within, and the entire kitchen was filled with a blinding light.  
  
As the light gradually disappeared, Ronnie brought a hand to her forehead and blinked, trying to figure out why she felt so confused. She felt like she really should be remembering something incredibly important...  
  
...she and John had fought, and then she had ran upstairs and cried all over the bathroom floor, and...  
  
Falling to her left hip, Ronnie inspected her foot. Yes, while she was up there, she must have bandaged her foot, before coming back downstairs...  
  
...to find John still sitting in tea, his jeans still soaked, his face still wet with tears. But there was a distinct change in him. He was looked directly at her, his gaze determined.  
  
Ronnie crawled through the tea puddle and threw her arms around him.  
  
"Oh Deaky," she whispered. "I'm _so_ sorry. I can't believe I said those things to you and - "  
  
"No, Ronnie," John said gently. "_I'm_ sorry for not trying harder. And..."  
  
Ronnie waited patiently for him to continue.  
  
John pulled away slightly and dropped his gaze. "I w-wanted to ask you if tomorrow, p-perhaps you'd...erm..."  
  
Ronnie squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.  
  
John finally looked up, his eyes full of tears and finished in a whisper, "...go to the doctor with me?"  
  
Ronnie felt her heart rise, buoyant with hope.  
  
"If you're not busy, that is," John added uncertainly.  
  
"Of course I will," Ronnie promised, before pressing her lips against his.  
  
She felt John put his hands on her hips and pull her closer, and closer, until she was pressed so tightly against him that she couldn't possibly get any nearer, but he still tried. He fell backwards, onto the kitchen floor, with Ronnie on top of him.  
  
They both burst out laughing.  
  
"It's so good to hear you laugh," Ronnie murmured as she leaned over him, her hair enveloping them both in a safe, private haven.  
  
John let his long fingers dance down her back. "I hope I can do it more often for you."  
  
"John?"  
  
"Y-yes?"  
  
"Come upstairs with me?"  
  
John sat up and fixed her with a completely serious expression. "You want to go to sleep already?"  
  
Ronnie crossed her arms and gave him a look.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, John's face broke into a smile as he looked away shyly, and Ronnie took heart knowing his sense of humor was returning.  
  
And then he was on his feet instantly, sweeping Ronnie off her own feet and carrying her out of the kitchen. Ronnie threw back her head and laughed; she couldn't remember the last time she had felt quite like this...it was almost like...  
  
Happiness. She was _happy_.  
  
The broken teacup and the mess of tea could wait. There were more important matters to attend to right now.  
  
It was only later, when Ronnie tiptoed back down to the kitchen, that she found the yellow rose on the ground, resting among the shattered teacup fragments and the now very cold tea.  
  
\---  
  
"I'm going to miss you, Anita."  
  
The words were out of Brian's mouth the moment he followed her into her room. A powerful feeling of regret had been growing inside him the entire journey to the second floor, to the point where he couldn't hold it in any longer.  
  
Anita blinked in surprise as she was crushed in Brian's sudden embrace. "But I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"Yes, you are," Brian said, as he held her close. "You're calling Freddie to send you back to your own time."  
  
Anita rested her head against Brian's shoulder. "I'm calling him to tell him I'm staying here. With you."  
  
Brian was silent as a despondent feeling spread through his chest, before he finally sighed and said, "Oh, Anita. You can't do that."  
  
Anita tried not to sound as offended as she felt. "And why not?"  
  
"Because I'm sure you're desperately needed in 1999 right now," Brian said, as he gently pulled back and looked her in the eye. "You need to make things right."  
  
"But I don't _want_ to go back," Anita said firmly. "Brian, there's nothing there for me anymore."  
  
"There's me," Brian pointed out.  
  
Anita stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to say that she didn't want _that_ Brian anymore, but she bit her tongue on her salty remark.  
  
She wanted _this_ Brian, this beautiful, kind, untainted version. She had arrived in 1971 fully determined to hate him, but Freddie had been right - he hadn't done anything to hurt her. No, that distinction went to Brian in 1999.  
  
But now she knew it was possible to still have a relationship with Brian, before anything terrible had happened...so how could this Brian take that away from her?  
  
Instead of saying any of that, Anita turned and walked away from him. "You don't want me here."  
  
"Anita, that's not true," Brian insisted. "You know that's not true. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. But..."  
  
Anita looked over her shoulder at him.  
  
"You can't stay here," Brian said, keeping his voice soft as he took a step towards her. "Not after what happened in your own time. It will mar any relationship we have."  
  
"I'll push it away," Anita said, her voice wavering. "I want to start over with you."  
  
"Anita, it's going to forever poison your heart until you go back and talk to him...or rather, me." Brian reached for her hand.

Anita retreated to the other side of the bed and shook her head.  
  
"Go to him," Brian begged. " I had a reason for doing what I did, I _know_ I did."   
  
For Brian, it was the only conceivable reason he could come up with for having done something to hurt Anita so badly, and he hoped he was right.  
  
"Brian, if you make me leave, I'll never fall in love again," Anita said stubbornly.  
  
"Of course you will," Brian said, preparing to circle the bed to get to her but Anita held out a hand to stop him.  
  
"I won't!" Anita said, her eyes filling with tears. "Do you know how many times I was engaged before I met you, Brian?"  
  
Brian went silent.  
  
"Three!" Anita shouted. "Engaged _three_ times and none of them worked out! That's why after thirteen years, I really thought _you_ were the one!"  
  
"I still am!" Brian said passionately. "Which is why you need to go back to 1999 and talk to me. Touch my heart like you have tonight. Everything will be _all right_."  
  
With a sob, Anita turned away.  
  
In a flash, Brian had crawled across the bed and cupped her face in his hands, before singing very softly,  
  
_For the earth is old and grey, little darling, we'll away_  
_But my love this cannot be  
  
_Anita wiped at her eyes furiously.  
  
_For so many years have gone though I'm older but a year_  
_Your mother's eyes, from your eyes, cry to me_  
  
"If you won't return for me..." Brian said softly, "isn't there someone else worth going back for? Perhaps...children?"  
  
Children. Anita hadn't thought of that.  
  
"You have children," Anita whispered. "But not with me."  
  
A cold hard truth slowly dawned on Anita. Brian _adored_ his children; they were truly the first loves of his life. And if she stayed and had her own children with Brian, then Brian's other three children would never exist. In order for Emily, Louisa, and Jimmy to exist, Brian would need to meet and marry Chrissie first.  
  
She couldn't take them away from him. She wasn't _that_ selfish.  
  
Brian stared at Anita, questions burning brightly in his eyes.  
  
"You're right, Brian," Anita said sadly. "You had a history before you met me and if I stay here with you, your children will be no more."  
  
Brian, at a complete loss for words as he watched Anita's internal struggle, watched as she closed her eyes, ignoring the tear that ran swiftly down her cheek, and whispered, "Freddie."  
  
Spirit Freddie materialized instantly. "Darling?"  
  
"I'm ready to go home," Anita said, as she made her way towards the door. "Let me just say goodbye first."  
  
Having failed in their noble quest for breakfast, the remaining members of Queen were loitering in the entryway, discussing their next plan of attack, when Anita descended the stairs.  
  
Roger was sighing in exasperation. "There has to be an egg around here _somewhere!"   
_  
"Anita, darling?" Freddie asked in a voice that was laced with concern. "Why are you crying, my dear?"  
  
"Because," Anita took a deep breath. "Because my ride is here and it's time for me to say goodbye, as well."  
  
As she looked at the three young men in front of her, she wished she could leave them with some kind of encouraging advice. After all, they had all been through their own personal form of hell in the past few hours.  
  
And then she remembered something Freddie had said a very long time ago.  
  
Stepping forward, she hugged Roger, before pulling back and touching his blonde hair - which still was quite long. "Someone will always be prettier," she whispered.  
  
She looked behind her, where Brian was standing on the stairs, radiating sympathy. "Someone will always be smarter," she said, raising her voice slightly.  
  
She turned and smiled at John. "Someone will always be younger," she said, as she pulled him into a quick hug.  
  
"But," she continued, as she stopped in front of Freddie, "they will never be _you_." And she threw her arms around him, wanting to forever remember Freddie this way - young, healthy, and hopeful.  
  
Stepping back, Anita put her hand on the door knob and smiled through her tears at them. "Remember that," she whispered. "You killer queens."  
  
And she opened the door and disappeared.  
  
Spirit Freddie was already outside, sitting in a garden of beautiful yellow roses, a tiny red cardinal on his shoulder.   
  
"That was lovely, darling," he said admiringly to her. "My words sound prettier coming from your mouth."  
  
With a heavy heart, Anita mustered the smallest of smiles, before she was swept into a pair of arms.  
  
Apparently Brian had stormed out of the house, jumped off the porch, and pulled her into a crushing hug.  
  
"Don't hate me for making you go back," he whispered into her ear. "Please, Anita. It's hurting me just as much as it's hurting you."  
  
"I couldn't ever hate you," Anita said, as she ran a gentle hand through his wild curls. "But I couldn't bear to say goodbye to you."  
  
Brian held her hands tightly. "Just know that whatever he has done to you, I'm still inside him somewhere. And I love you."  
  
And then he kissed her fully and deeply, while Freddie turned away and pretended to be very interested in the little bird that was now dancing down his arm, towards the palm of his hand.  
  
Anita knew that if she didn't go now, at this very second, she'd never be able to leave Brian, so she broke away, took three giant steps back, and said in a wavering voice, "Let's go home, Freddie."  
  
Freddie was beside her immediately. Brian stepped back and folding his arms, watched as Freddie took her hand.  
  
Gazing at Brian, Freddie sang softly, "Take heart my friend we love you, though it seems like you're alone."  
  
Anita smiled to herself. The song Freddie was singing to Brian was Brian's own, but Brian didn't know that because he hadn't written it yet.  
  
Freddie looked down at Anita. "A million lights above you, smile down upon your home."  
  
Anita looked at Brian once more, mouthed _I love you, too_, and then all she knew was bright light.  
  
\---  
  
Anita opened her eyes and found herself staring up at her bedroom ceiling.  
  
As she tried to process everything that had just happened, she felt her newfound hope slowly being replaced with dread, as she tried to delay the moment when she would have to go downstairs and let Brian back into the house.  
  
"Hurry put your troubles in a suitcase," Anita whispered to herself, continuing the song that Freddie had sung to Brian.  
  
"Come let the new child play," a voice sang back.  
  
Anita's eyes widened. She remembered how hours before, Freddie had been sitting in the armchair in the corner, but that was _not_ Freddie's voice.  
  
Anita sat up quickly, curious to see if the armchair would be empty, but there _was_ someone sitting there...  
  
His facial features were familiar to her, though his face was weathered with age. His eyes radiated kindness, and the gentlest of smiles danced on his lips as he observed her. He unfolded his long legs and ran a hand through his mane of curly, white hair.  
  
Anita's mouth fell open. _"Brian!?"  
_  
"Hello Anita," Brian said in a voice that did not sound one bit affected by age.  
  
Anita opened and closed her mouth, at an absolute loss to ask what she wanted to ask, and wondering if perhaps she had finally gone completely mad.  
  
Brian rose from the armchair and approached the bed, holding up his hands in defense. "Don't worry, don't worry. You're perfectly sane."  
  
"Your hair!" Anita exclaimed. "It's white!"  
  
Brian sat on the bed beside her. "Unfortunately, yes. I fought it for years but...well...it's not so bad." And he smiled.  
  
Anita stared at him in wonder. "What are you, exactly?"  
  
Brian considered her question thoughtfully. "I suppose you'd call me a time traveler."  
  
"You came from the future?" Anita asked, curiously.  
  
Brian nodded. "2019, to be exact."  
  
Twenty years from now, Anita thought to herself.  
  
"You've come for a reason, haven't you," she said quietly.  
  
"Freddie thought you might be in need of some reassurance," Brian said kindly.  
  
Anita sighed. "He's right. I don't know what to do or how to feel."  
  
Brian gazed at her sadly. "I don't know if this matters, coming from me, but I am so sorry for what I did to you, Anita."  
  
Anita's eyes filled with tears.  
  
"I pay for it every single day," Brian continued. "I want you to know that. I've punished myself severely and even you have told me in the future that I'm being too hard on myself. It is truly my one greatest regret."  
  
A tear slipped down Anita's cheek. "I believe you. But it's so hard to accept that right now, since I'm still very much in the middle of this mess."  
  
"I know," Brian agreed quietly.  
  
"May I...may I ask you a few questions?" Anita asked hesitantly.  
  
"Of course," Brian said. "I'll do anything to help you through this, Anita."  
  
"You say you're from 2019," Anita said carefully. "Are we...are we still together?"  
  
"Yes," Brian confirmed. "Thank God, yes."  
  
"So I forgave you?" Anita asked.  
  
"In your own way, yes," Brian said, as he pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his pants. From his shirt pocket, he extracted a small pair of spectacles, which he balanced on his nose, in order to get a better look at the paper he was unfolding.  
  
Anita found herself smiling at this grandfatherly version of Brian.  
  
"I brought this from the future because I thought it might help you," Brian explained. "It will give you a glimpse into your own mind, what you'll one day believe."  
  
Anita took the paper he was offering her. "What is it?"  
  
"I printed it from the internet," Brian said proudly. "It's from an interview you'll do with The Daily Mail in 2011."  
  
With a pounding heart and shaking fingers, Anita read the words of a wiser, older version of herself:  
  
_I didn’t think I’d ever come back from it. I thought: “That’s it. Over.” But when I walked away, I thought...  
_  
_You obviously love this man, and he loves you. You’ve spent your life running away from commitment. Maybe it’s time you stood and figured out why. Don’t just walk away because of your ego and hurt female pride.   
_  
_Why are you going? Because you feel a fool? It takes two people to make a mess and two to make a good marriage. Face your mistakes. You can say I love you but if one of you isn’t present because they’re working, what can the other one do?   
_  
_What do you want? A relationship, or are you happy going through life having fabulous times with various men? Do you want a home life? If you do, don’t you think it’s time you put a bit more in the pot?  
_  
_Two weeks later I was Mrs May. I wouldn’t be married today if it wasn’t for that affair. I needed to grow up and deal with the fact I was also responsible for our relationship._  
  
Anita shivered. It was like her future self was speaking directly to her, her insight traveling back through the years.  
  
And she also felt a pang of guilt. She had been so busy acting that she hadn't been fully committed, she hadn't been totally present, she hadn't been completely sure of what she wanted...  
  
Brian was gazing at her sadly. "You said we went through hell but you believed it was true love."  
  
"We're married?" Anita whispered.  
  
Brian smiled. "Yes, you did me the honor of becoming my missus."  
  
Anita slowly folded the paper back up. She could hardly believe that she was going to get her happily ever after.  
  
Brian stood and offered Anita his hand. "But the first step to making everything better is letting him back in the house and talking to him."  
  
Anita's lower lip trembled as she placed her hand in Brian's. "I don't know if I'm ready."  
  
"That may be so," Brian said gently, as he pulled her off the bed, "but we don't want him to catch pneumonia. Because then I might disappear."  
  
He winced noticeably and Anita laughed.  
  
Brian tucked Anita's hand into the crook of his arm and led her down the stairs, where Spirit Freddie was waiting at the door.  
  
"I'm sorry, darling," he said in response to her confused look. "But before you let Brian back in, I need to erase this entire time travel business from your memory."  
  
"What?" Anita said in surprise. "But this has been so helpful!"  
  
"You'll only forget it in your mind, Anita dear," Freddie said, taking her hand. "But it will live on in your soul."  
  
"So I'm going to forget 1971 _and_ meeting this Brian?" Anita looked fretfully at the handsome man with crazy white hair in front of her.  
  
Brian stepped forward and put an arm around her, planting a kiss on her forehead. "It'll be erased from my memory, as well."  
  
Freddie glanced out the window, where it was raining heavily. "I think the poor darling is ready to come inside."  
  
Anita took a deep breath.  
  
"We're going to be all right, Anita," Brian said reassuringly.  
  
Freddie pressed a hand to Anita's heart. "I'll always be with you, darling. You always have my love. Let that be your strength."  
  
Anita nodded bravely, touching his cheek, before throwing one more fearful glance at Brian.  
  
Brian chucked her under the chin, before singing slowly and softly, "You know we're talking of...love."  
  
Anita last thought was that she couldn't have been more glad that Brian's sweet soul had won in the end. And then everything disappeared in a haze of brilliant white light.  
  
\---  
  
**October 1993  
**  
Roger picked up a spoon and used it to examine his reflection carefully.  
  
Brian stared at him. "Are you discovering anything new and exciting about yourself?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes," Roger said, bringing the spoon closer to his face. "New age lines. There and there."  
  
Roger's significant other, Debbie Leng, sighed. "All week long with this."  
  
"Well, to be fair, no one told me forty-four would be so difficult," Roger said defensively.  
  
"Forty-four?" Brian raised an eyebrow and gestured to the rest of the patrons in the restaurant. "You're probably the youngest person here, Roger. Well, besides Deaky."  
  
John blushed and looked down at his plate.  
  
"Easy for you say," Roger said, "but I'm not as accustomed to aging as you are, Brian."  
  
Brian looked offended. "You're just angry that I'm better at it than you are!"  
  
"You are not!"  
  
"I'm aging like a very fine wine," Brian said proudly, before winking at Anita.  
  
"More like some kind of sweet cheese," Roger mumbled.  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake," Spirit Freddie muttered, as he flicked a fork off the table. Since his friends could neither see nor hear him, it was the only way he could break up the volatile argument that he knew was looming on the horizon.  
  
The table looked down at the fork in surprise.  
  
"Right," Brian said. "Back to business."  
  
Under the table, Ronnie felt John's fingers brush against her very round, very firm belly. She was due next month.  
  
"I was in the archives the other day," Brian explained, "and Freddie really did leave us an extraordinary wealth of material. I was thinking, perhaps it's time we went back in the studio."  
  
"Without Freddie?" John said quietly.  
  
"_With_ Freddie," Brian insisted. "We won't be doing this without him. I know he'll be there in spirit."  
  
Spirit Freddie nodded from his position between John and Brian. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, darling."  
  
"I'm in," Roger said enthusiastically. "I think Freddie would love it."  
  
"Excellent, yes, Roger!" Brain agreed, before turning to John. "Deaky?"  
  
John was silent. Ronnie gently squeezed his hand, letting him know that whatever he chose to do, it would be all right.  
  
Freddie placed a hand on John's shoulder and felt John instantly lean towards him, almost as if John knew he was there...  
  
Ridiculous, Freddie thought to himself. Everyone's memories had been wiped clean.  
  
"Y-yes," John said finally. "All right."  
  
And he actually smiled.  
  
"Are you absolutely sure?" Brian asked carefully.  
  
John nodded, before turning to look at Ronnie, anxious to see her reaction.  
  
Though John's short hair was now never in any danger of being in his face, Ronnie still found herself brushing back an invisible strand from his cheek, her fingers lovingly touching his face as she beamed at him.  
  
"What will we call the new album?" Roger asked curiously.  
  
Brian frowned. "I haven't gotten that far yet."  
  
"Might I suggest Made in Heaven, darling?" Spirit Freddie said grandly, just as a a waiter approached the table with a vase of yellow roses.  
  
"Special delivery for your table," the waiter said, as he set them down in the center.  
  
"That's odd," Brian said. "I wonder who sent them?"  
  
The waiter shrugged. "It was anonymous."  
  
Spirit Freddie covered his mouth to suppress a giggle.  
  
"Yellow roses," Roger whispered as the waiter walked away. "Weren't those Freddie's favorite?"  
  
Anita felt a chill run down her back. She slowly looked up and found Ronnie staring at her with very much the same mystified expression.  
  
"Yes," John confirmed. "They were."  
  
The entire table was silent for just a moment, before...  
  
"Goodnight Freddie," Roger said, as he lifted his glass. "We love you."  
  
The rest of the table lifted their glasses in a special toast and murmured their agreement.  
  
Spirit Freddie smiled to himself as he backed away and gazed fondly upon his friends, before he sang, in a voice that was no more than a whisper on the wind, "When I look....and I find...I still love you."  
  
And then he turned, opened the door to the restaurant, and journeyed back to the stars, where Jim and the cats were waiting.  
  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again to everyone who read this! And thank you for the comments as well, they really kept me going! I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3


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